


Need

by Menirva



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: A/B/O, Abduction, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, OTB, Omega Verse, Sassy Barsad, Thinly veiled social commentary disguised as smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 65,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menirva/pseuds/Menirva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Omega verse AU set during Gotham's occupation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BubblyGreenBubbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblyGreenBubbles/gifts).



Bane’s heats were irregular, erratic things, so much so that Talia had teased him once that perhaps he was a beta, after all. Poor nutrients growing up in the pit had wreaked havoc on his system during his pubescence. Still, he had disciplined himself, forced them into something manageable, though bothersome. The soothing drugs that held his pain at bay were dangerously incompatible with heat-suppressant medication, and thus he considered himself fortunate that his cycles were usually much fewer and farther between than most, as unpredictable as they were.

His first had been a hell. His heat scent was a sweet musk to all others in the pit the moment he had differentiated; it had been later than most. He had been sure he was simply a beta, and it had been a relief. He had seen what happened to the few omegas that lived in the pit—they were constantly fought over, their heat cycles bartered by those who claimed them as “wives.”

_He felt a sudden rush of hotness stabbing into his guts, and dropped down heavily to the floor.  His wooden bowl spilled and scattered the bits of hard-earned rice to pieces on the filthy floor. His hand went to the knife he tucked into his pants. He was strong, but not enough to fight while in heat, still only a boy. He would be easy prey, and as he scrambled back to his cell he felt the heat in him rising and he wondered if that would be such a terrible thing, to be opened and taken, bred until he was wet and leaking from it._

_For the first few hours, he hoped uselessly that it was just a strong cycle for a beta, that it would pass in a day, but it continued into the night and there was restlessness in the cells, prowling to determine whose omega was coming into heat. He slept restlessly clutching his knife and waiting to be discovered._

_His body felt bathed in sweat, the chemicals and pheromones ravaging through him and putting him into a haze of need that became harder to fight with each passing moment. He felt truly lost when he finally slid his hand between his thighs and plunged his fingers into the slickness there, bit into his forearm and tried to muffle the noises, knowing his actions would be spreading his scent, making it easier for him to be found, but he could not stop and it still was not enough. Soon he might seek them out. He had heard stories. He knew the place of omegas, and it felt ridiculous to fight it._

_A harsh but musical voice suddenly drifted to his ears, snapping him out of his fog. “Stop that. Do not be a fool.”_

_It was the woman. Everyone knew she lived in the cell beside his, but he had barely seen her, never spoken to her, only heard her speak in low tones through the thick quilts that covered her cell walls, talking to the doctor. He had been fascinated to hear her smooth voice as she sang to sleep to the little child she had borne there; it had lulled him on more than one occasion, as well, a moment of fleeting peace in their hell._

_He ticked his head toward the voice and could see her, just barely, the quilt pulled back slightly from her bars. She was beta, and while his blood boiled for more, his brain whispered that she would soothe it. Her face, though, did not send the same message. It was harsh, closed off, disapproving._

_“I cannot. I cannot bear this heat,” he whispered to her. It felt aching and empty between his thighs even while his fingers worked, the wetness in him spread and flamed his desire._

_“Then you are an animal, like all of them.” She flicked her head towards the open area of the prison, and he recoiled. “And you deserve the same fate.”_

_It was a cold splash of reality in his face._

_He forced his fingers from himself, forced himself to ignore the heaviness of his limbs, the ache in his cock, and sat up slowly, panting lightly with the effort. “What can I even do to avoid it?” It seemed hopeless. He would be found soon enough, anyway._

_He could barely see her purse her lips, consider him for a moment, then she knelt and pushed something across the stone floor so that it skipped and clinked, clattered against his hand. A key._

_“Come here.”_

_He fumbled, took it between now clumsy fingers. “Why are you helping me?”_

_“You are young, too young. I have seen you before,” it was spoken as if it explained her every action. “You will come lock yourself into this cell, and then you will leave when it is over.”_

_“I feel as though I cannot move.”_

_“Then you will be all the easier to rape. Give me back my key.”_

_He clutched it to his chest, instead, and crawled against the floor to her cell, unlocking it and collapsing inside, barely managing to lock it after. She was sitting on a cushion in the corner of the cell, holding the small child, a few years along now, as it slept.  He had never seen it, either, and while a small part of him was fascinated, he could barely focus on it or the sparsely-furnished room._

_“It hurts.” He had never complained of pain before.  He had suffered much in silence as he grew in the pit, but that ache, it was new and unbearable and he could smell her now, longed for the sweetness he could smell inside of her, longed to be ridden to completion, to spill into her. His desire must have shown in his eyes, for she fixed him with a sharp look._

_“You must bear it. I will not ease it; I will not risk another pregnancy. It will last roughly four days, and if you start masturbating yourself hopelessly on this first night you will be pleading out for them to come ravish you by the third.”_

_He shook his head in refusal. “Never.”_

_She nodded in approval. “Then you will survive.” She patted her thigh once and he crept to her, pausing once to sniff the air for her scent and moan softly._

_He nearly yelped when she cuffed the back of his head sharply._

_“Are you nothing more than your instincts?” she asked him in a sharp, reprimanding tongue. He shook his head and laid it in her lap. She let him lie there through the night and sleep fitfully. He let it be enough to soothe him through his first night._

_In the morning he learned of Talia, and in his briefer moments of clarity he played with her. Fell in love with her. She was light, and her sweet innocence made him forget his aches._

_When the night came, her mother no longer faulted him for his need._

_“It is the worst night,” she explained. “It cannot be helped. Do what you need to do to your body.”_

_He had worked himself into a frenzy with his hands. It had felt like he simply could not come enough, spending again and again but never feeling the fires cool. He had asked for her shamelessly. She simply smacked the back of his head as she kept it on her lap, letting her scent ease him but not touching him beyond stroking over his scalp._

_“Why won’t you help me?” He choked out, feeling miserable._

_“I am helping you. Are you nothing more than your instincts?”_

_She had asked the question many times throughout the night, and it chilled his heat each time. Each time he shook his head with new determination. When his heat finally broke, she sent him away, and he needed to kill 3 men, slit each of their throats, cut off their genitals as a warning, to keep himself from being taken, but he was strong enough without the heat to kill any who tried._

_Each sporadic heat, he came to her, played with Talia in the morning, and laid his head in her lap through each night._

_When he saw her attacked, he longed to save her, but he knew he could not save them both and so he had snatched up Talia, his light, and held her close, rocked her and soothed her, but knew in the back of his mind that he could not keep her safe. When his next cycle hit, there would be no cell to hide locked away in and they would both be torn apart._

_She would have to make the climb first. He knew she could._

_When the first signs of his heat struck him, he gathered her. The other prisoners had been waiting, and they fell on him. He could feel them claw at him hungrily as she rose._

_They tore him to pieces. They ripped apart his face. They ripped into his insides, their cuts and blows so severe that they had destroyed his possibility of ever conceiving a child for them.  It was a twisted blessing, for no babe but Talia survived the pit._

_Even in the deepest of his cycle, he did not yearn for their touch._

He had never forgotten her words.

He would never be nothing more than his instincts.

He was not that same youth, now. He had conquered his own nature.

____________________

Barsad studied the maps carefully. They would need to be memorized; none of them could afford to lose precious time by being trapped in the maze of the sewer if there was an attack, a raid. His eyes were beginning to ache with strain, though. He had insisted on pulling a double watch the first night in their new dwelling. Bane’s men were intelligent, skilled, but it was such a vital time that he could not fathom leaving someone else to do the job.  He had not slept for two days, however, and it was blurring his concentration.

A heavy hand rested on his shoulder suddenly, and he knew his focus was completely shot when he jumped from it.

“Barsad.” The tone was low with disapproval and he hung his head, accepting defeat.

“I will rest.”

“See that you do. You are impractical to me dead.”

Mother hen. He held back a slight smile, and then kept his head dipped down when Bane’s callous, rough thumb pushed into the muscle at the back of his neck. He sighed in gratitude and closed his eyes, feeling the tension ease there. They were alone, with merely a skeleton crew at the moment, bare-bones to set up an infrastructure, and that meant the open area they had claimed as a place of planning was empty.

“Where have you set up your pallet?”

He paused, knowing the answer would displease his brother. Bane squeezed the back of his neck, part a scolding reprimand, part loosening the muscles there more. “It is clear that you have not even set it up at all, have you, brother?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Take your rest on my own. The work will wait.”

“Yes, brother.” He left tucking his proverbial tale between his legs at the mild scolding. He felt warmth in his chest, though, that his brother cared so about his well-being. The bedding was pleasant, warm from him having risen not long ago, and he fell to it, could not resist a frivolous moment of burying his face into the warm quilt there and taking in Bane’s thick scent, curling into a ball as its familiarity whispered pleasant things to his mind about his dangerous, intoxicating, brother.

Knowing his brother as he did had changed many opinions of Barsad’s view of the world, of society and how foolish humanity truly was. Differentiating as a beta meant he had spent most of his life on the outside looking in on a dynamics war. His heats were extremely rare, every few years or so, and mild. Though they certainly did not feel mild when they hit, in all honestly, he had seen Bane through his own and knew they did not compare.

 

He remembered well when puberty had hit him, when omega pheromones presented to him had stirred him but not to the level that they would have an alpha. When he did not begin a regular heat cycle, which would have marked him as an omega, he had felt, for lack of a better word, lost. He had always been certain he would be one of the two, and his heart had been content for either. The deep sense of desire to belong, of wanting to give his loyalty to another with gladness, had always been a part of his heart. It had seemed unfair that he would not fit into either dynamic that called for just that.

Betas were thought to have more options open to them, and yet even as a beta he felt his own nature being prejudiced against, as well. He had been indoctrinated into the belief that, as beta, he would never be able to understand the strong link of alpha and omega, the supposed pinnacle of all bonds, and all of the devotion and love he might feel in his heart would always be merely a pittance in comparison as his body did not have the same strong needs, the chemicals binding him to another. It was perhaps what led him to join the league, for what greater bond could there be than that? The bond of brothers and sisters fighting for a cause.

He had had been welcomed there as a brother, but inside he bitterly accepted the truth that he would never be capable of a true devotion like an alpha or omega, until he’d met them. When he had first seen them together, he had begun, for the first time, to question all that he thought he knew of the world, of dynamics. He had watched in secret, witnessing what he had thought at the time were two betas, holding a bond stronger than he had ever known possible. It had stirred his soul, made him feel that perhaps he could one day have what he desired. When he had learned the truth, it had been even more stunning.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Barsad, come. I have need of you.” Talia touched her hand lightly to his shoulder, a rare show of intimacy, expressing her urgency in that subtle touch. He had followed her from the fireplace, surrounded by their brotherhood busy cleaning weapons and checking supplies, to a fair distance away. The night was dark, and the chill of the desert was beginning to settle into the sand beneath their boots._

_“How may I assist, sister?” The wind shifted and he suddenly took in the cloying scent of heat, making his blood stir. His head swam briefly. He was unable to help a worried look. They were to start a siege tomorrow, and if one of the men had just started a cycle it could complicate things. It was rare; the men Bane had chosen for missions were mostly betas and their leader, while progressive enough to allow omegas into the league, would not have sent one off on a long mission without heat suppressants._

_She pursed her lips, stared into his eyes, and suddenly he felt as though this were a true test, something that would determine his worth in her eyes. He only hoped he was measured and found worthy. His sister, his brother, perhaps it was bold, but he had felt that he was being pulled aside by them, as something that was showing merit, and he was both humbled and proud to serve them. Their pull was strong; he had never seen such loyalty as what he saw between them, and he felt a yearning in his heart for it though he was certain it would never be realized. He was happy to serve them, perhaps happier than he was to serve their leader, if it meant keeping that flame alight between them. It gave him a secret hope he might one day find his own._

_The scent was very distracting, yes, but he was needed. He sniffed lightly at the air once more before discarding it and turning his full attention to his sister. “Please, if there is something I can do to assist.”_

_Her lips curved into a smile, a rare jewel and the first he had ever seen directed towards him._

_“So loyal, Barsad. Yes, there is something. Come.” She led him further until he could see a tent in the distance, a small fire near it, far enough out that he could no longer see the larger flame of their camp. The scent increased then, and his curiosity grew._

_“What you learn now you will speak to no one,” she warned him, and he of course nodded his agreement._

_He never would have dreamed he would see Bane there when he was ushered into the small tent, the flap closed tightly behind them to keep the scent of heat in as much as possible. It made it thicker there, his head was swimming and he nearly swooned as it filled his lungs. Bane was seated on the bedding, his eyes closed in a deep meditation. He looked calm, and Barsad did not think an omega could look so calm during a heat—for he realized now that this was too strong for any beta cycle—only the sheen of sweat across Bane’s scalp and the damp spots against his belly and underarms where his shirt clung tightly to his skin betrayed him._

_“What…” He felt speechless. Desire was taking him, and it was deeply confusing. Though it had never been spoken, Bane was known by all as a beta. He held himself like a beta, he did not smell like any omega that Barsad had scented. He had always assumed he was able to tell on sight another’s dynamic, and he had always submitted to Bane without hesitation, but it felt easy to submit to another beta. Now his brain tried to compensate for this new knowledge._

_Bane opened his eyes and stared into his own. They were sharp, but the lightest of cloudiness could be seen hinging around their edges. He seemed surprised, flicking his eyes questioningly towards Talia. “Why is he here?” He did not seem embarrassed, merely perturbed, and Barsad felt the sudden desire to scramble out of the tent and forget what he had seen, hope Bane did not snap his neck for knowing._

_“To ease you,” Talia replied simply._

_Both men turned to stare at her._

_She gave them a stern look. “The siege cannot be delayed for long. Your heat must break before it begins. With the two of us, we will be able to work you through it faster.”_

_His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, too many pheromones clogging his brain, too much new information._

_Talia was stripping, quickly, efficiently. It was very distracting._

_“And you expect me to simply submit to your father’s men? Take them between my legs and let them have me?” Bane’s voice was a rough growl behind his mask, and Barsad flinched at it._

_“Never,” he swore quickly, not thinking of the words coming out of his mouth, only knowing they were what he felt. “I… I am not her father’s man. I am yours, brother. If you wish to use me, then please, I will try to be what you need.”_

_Talia looked pleased. “He is wisely chosen, is he not?” She touched her hand to his cheek, nails scraping lightly through his beard. “You know he is not merely my father’s follower.”_

_Then it was Bane’s turn to study him. His chin was gripped roughly, he stared into his eyes and he felt himself squirm, the silence and intensity making the richness in the air all the more noticeable. Bane seemed to find something satisfactory in him, and his thumb reached to brush over his brow, slow and thoughtful as he held him still. Barsad’s mouth dropped open and he panted lightly, tasting the pheromones in the air._

_“I will not submit to you, brother.” Bane’s tone was warning, and Barsad shook his head. Bane’s grip bit into his jaw, and Barsad realized he was misunderstood._

_“I submit to you, brother,” he promised._

_Bane’s grip loosened slightly and he seemed surprised, almost hesitant to be given such a thing freely. “Even now, knowing?”_

_He nodded fervently. “Always to you.” He always had, and he realized that their dynamics made no difference in this._

_Bane’s fingers ruffled through his hair suddenly. Its friendliness was such a fond intimacy that he felt himself tilting into it and baring his neck to his brother, panting more. He flushed in embarrassment over his own antics when the soft hiss of Bane’s laughter drifted from his mask. “Perhaps he is wisely chosen, after all. Undress, Barsad.”_

He remembered how he had scrambled to heed those words, had lost himself in the perfect wet heat between his brother’s legs, smothered himself in his blissful scent and taste. He had worried at first about the need for protection, knowing Bane would not want to bring a child into this cruel world, but he had been reassured and did not argue them. Bane had been wary at first, laying him down and riding him while Talia pinned his wrists over his head.  Barsad had been able to do little else but squirm and shudder.

Bane’s eyes had hooded eventually, though, and his shoulders had relaxed, the roll of his hips became smoother. He had ridden him roughly until Barsad was a shuddering wreck beneath him, begging to be allowed to spill, to knot and fill him. When he had been allowed to swell inside of him, he had felt himself crushed under his brother’s heavy heat, sweat and skin. The coolness of his mask was against his neck as he was locked deeply into him, giving his brother all that he wanted of him. He had never felt so whole. He had only found out later that the reason he had been held down was that Bane had never taken a male willingly between his legs before. When Bane nodded to Talia that she could let go of his arms, he was overwhelmed by the trust given to him.

Between himself and Talia taking turns, they had been able to break through the heat enough that Bane lead them through the siege the following night. He had thought perhaps he would have his throat slit when they left the tent, to take his brother’s secret to a shallow grave, but he had simply received a light pat on the back, instead, and had been sent back to camp while Bane cleaned himself up. He burrowed into the bedding more now, lips curling into a slight smile at the memories. He let them loosen his aching muscles and sink into his rest. Bane’s heat cycles were rare, but each one now he was used as his brother needed and it was a fine thing, indeed.

____________________

Blake stared down at the washed up body.

“His name’s Jimmy. He’s from St. Swithin’s, the boys’ home where I—” He stopped. “Where I coach some ball,” he finished with a partial lie. Jimmy had been a good kid, a really good kid. He had a little brother, too, he was sure of it. He felt his chest tighten a little at that before he pushed it away. He couldn’t afford to get close to every orphaned body found that had been thrown away by Gotham. He didn’t have that much emotion in him to give.

“I’ll report in to them,” he offered. It was the least he could do. He tried to stop in on occasion. He really did play ball with some of the kids, wanting to give them a positive alpha role model, and even though the last thing he wanted to tell the father was that another one of his kids had been found dead, it felt wrong to leave it to someone else.

When he ascended the staircase, he couldn’t help touching his fingers lightly against the banister. There were so many memories in this place, mostly bad, there hadn’t been a lot of good in his life, but there were a few good ones here, too, before he differentiated, anyway. It was too dangerous to keep alphas in with undifferentiated kids, too aggressive, too hostile. He didn’t buy into that much. He’d never felt particularly dangerous; angry, yeah, but he didn’t hurt people.

It burned inside a little, how that label stuck to him, though. For a little while in his youth he’d envied all of the kids he’d grown up with who turned out to be betas, and he had felt all the more lonely for it. That was just how it was, though. Alphas were loners, they didn’t want friends. They were strong, and did their job well, aggressively. They just couldn’t really be trusted until they found an omega to calm them, bred with them and settled down to take care of them.

That’s what he always told himself now.

It still felt like fucking bull shit.

Blake was lonely as shit. He just knew he didn’t have a right to be, and it made his skin squirm. Alphas only wanted omegas, and he didn’t want an omega, not now, not for a while anyway, and maybe not ever. That sort of intimacy was frankly kind of terrifying. It was safer to stick to betas who didn’t think you’d feel any obligations towards them. They’d have fun, take care of needs, be done with it. They didn’t spend the night, and Blake didn’t invite them to, even though sometimes it felt like it was all he wanted to do.

Alphas didn’t get into anything serious with betas and omegas were too much, so he realized long ago he’d pretty much fucked himself when it came to feeling lonely. Alphas weren’t exactly picked as drinking buddies. If he’d been born a beta he could date, maybe get close to another beta, spend the night with them, but that hadn’t been the case, so it was pretty pointless to think about. It was just a phase anyway, he was sure. He’d probably catch the scent of some omega going into heat one day and change his mind, end up tied with a bunch of little ones scrambling all over him and in a shitty apartment he couldn’t afford and, god, that was a terrible image, and now he was just wallowing in self-pity and he knew it so he shook it off.

He’d made good, made it through the academy against all odds, and he had a pretty good life. The father was kind to him, like he always was when he came around, warm, polite, with just enough gentleness to him to show that he cared but he honestly couldn’t get too close because he had so many other people in his heart that just couldn’t add one more. Blake understood. It felt the same way between him and the kids that they found sometimes, washed up like Jimmy, in old dumpsters like they’d found Wendy and Kyle, frozen to death in a warehouse like Margaret.

There were too many kids in the world already, and everyone was just trying to stick more of them in it. It was one of a thousand reasons he didn’t want to tie with an omega. Protection or not, people did stupid shit in heat, too many pheromones telling them to just take the condom off and breed the omega under them right. He wasn’t about to get into that.

Too many kids and too many of them dying, it made him angry enough. Finding out that the Wayne Foundation had stopped funding for children who couldn’t stay in the program any longer made him even angrier. That funding was what had gotten him into the academy. It was what helped a lot of kids have a fighting chance.

He talked to Jimmy’s brother, Mark, found out what he could, but the kid was quiet, understandably shut off. He ended up closing his shift without many answers, heading home to an empty apartment and about to feel sorry for himself about it before he shook his head. He’d snap out of these feelings one day. He was just going through a phase.

He’d probably want to be with an omega one day, on his own, and worrying about it was just stressing him out and making him overthink it. It was just that he hated how he was treated on the job for not having one, like he had a bad temperament, like he was going to snap at any moment. His partner, a beta, was pretty ok about it. He’d teased him about it and seemed like a nice enough guy that it hadn’t bothered him much, but it was clear he wasn’t going to make a connection there beyond work partner. He was nice, though, which was good because his options were limited; untied alphas didn’t get partnered with omegas, or other alphas.

He probably wouldn’t even get promoted without it. The commissioner had seemed nice enough, but he was an omega, and it was an unspoken rule that he sure as hell wasn’t going to be put under direct orders from an omega as an untied alpha. He honestly shouldn’t have even approached him the other night with the congressman’s case but, well, he’d been there and maybe he’d snapped up the folder before anyone else could. He’d expect to be mostly dismissed, but he couldn’t resist asking if the commissioner wanted to know about the Batman… It had been something that had eaten away at him for a long time, knowing. He hadn’t expected the commissioner to smile at him, treat him nicely, nicer than most people ever did, and not tell him to back off the case. It had been a pleasant surprise, actually, to be treated like he wasn’t going to snap at any moment.


	3. Chapter 3

“You feel that you are needed?” Bane asked as he knelt down by the small fire pit he had created. It kept back the dank of the sewer, which tended to remind him slightly too much of the pit; there, even in the desert, the moisture never quite left the air.

Barsad nodded, hefted his Barrett with a small grunt. Bane held a small look of amusement. If he did not know his brother well, he would say the gun was far too large for his small frame, but he knew he was able to use it like no other.

Though sometimes he secretly amused himself with the notion that his brother may yet one day topple over from its weight combined with his heavy plated vest and other armor.

“Very well. I will trust your judgment. Keep to the rooftops.”

Barsad tilted his head again. He was far more silent in the presence of the other men who were now milling about, working on the tunnels and planning. He preferred to always defer to him in front of them unless questioned. It was a shame, his brother had an amusing wit when he let his tongue be loose, something he found he enjoyed in few but him and their sister. He watched him pause at the doorway.

“Perhaps if you could stop looking at me as though I am a newly birthed colt whenever I hoist my gun…” His tone was soft enough to be missed by others, and Bane chuckled deeply.

“Perhaps I will on the day that I do not question if you will finally tip over while doing so,” he replied good-naturedly.

Barsad made a slightly disgruntled noise and left. Bane knew he was amused inwardly. Barsad was entertaining indeed and the most loyal man he had ever known, wisely chosen by Talia. He would listen to his brother’s advice if he felt he was truly needed as a set of eyes from above. Their plans were proceeding well. The slow buildup of resources and planning was finally coming to a culmination, and it did not hurt to be prudent.

As he tended the small flame, he paused when he felt a sudden roiling in his gut. It made him take careful stock of his body and hold back a small noise of displeasure. It was a warning sign. He had over time come to recognize them. Heat would visit him in perhaps a week’s time or so.

It could not have come at a more ill-planned stage. He had come to accept his body’s biological needs for what they were. He was not shamed by them, he ruled them as he did all aspects of his form, but this would be difficult. His sister would not be here to help ease him. Barsad was skilled in such a task and more than happy to perform it, but without both of them working the heat would last much longer than they could afford to have both of them out of commission for. He also might be swept under its haze further than he had in some time. He knew this from experience.

_Barsad slipped from him when his knot finally subsided enough. They both groaned at the slide of his cock leaving him. Barsad daringly kissed the back of his neck, his tongue ghosting gently over the scar there, tasting his sweat, and a shiver ran through Bane’s core. He could feel his brother dripping hot from between his thighs, and heard him sit heavily behind him, panting in exhaustion, but he himself still felt the strong need for more. Bane turned around to carefully recline and face him._

_“I am sorry, brother, just… just a moment and I think I can manage another.” Barsad tipped his head back and closed his eyes, his body flushed and glistening in the candlelight from their long coupling. They were on the run, and this unfortunate cycle was a curse. Excommunicated, they had left Talia behind in their haste to depart without her. She had sworn at him when he had left, cursed him for making her stay behind, and he had left quickly to avoid further argument, though it pained him to leave her. He had not wanted to tear apart the bond between her and her father simply for his own selfish needs, and hoped that their leader’s action was one formed from a hasty decision that would be revoked soon enough._

_“You are spent, brother.” He slid his fingers through Barsad’s sweat-soaked hair. He could feel the exhaustion tremble through his frame. “I can ask no more of you.” The heat scent he gave off affected his brother greatly, but it was not enough to force into him the same rutting state that one would receive from an alpha who would use it to push through fatigue for the sake of breeding._

_“I might manage one more,” Barsad protested lightly, but Bane could see relief flicker across his features._

_“You might, but you may also die from it.”_

_Barsad laughed tiredly. “All things considered, it would not be an unpleasant end… My hands, perhaps?” he offered, and Bane shook his head. He could use his own; hands did not help much. His body still burned to mate, and without Talia to assist, as well, they would have another day or perhaps two of his heat where travel would be nearly impossible to maintain without detection. His dynamic was never questioned without the scent of heat to determine it. It could prove to be dangerous if Ra’s al Ghul’s ire for him meant an assassination attempt, another reason for their hasty, covert departure. His cycle was being a danger not only to himself but his loyal brother._

_His body was frustrated, and it made it harder for him to come up with a solution. His brother watched him quietly for a few moments before speaking, with great hesitation. “I could… perhaps find another?” It was clear from his tone that he was reluctant to ever suggest a thing, that it would never even be broached if they were not in possibly great danger. The busy village they had stopped in offered them little protection, and to stay more than the night would be folly, but to travel during his heat was madness and would make stealth impossible._

_Barsad did not know fully what he was suggesting. He did not know that he was one of only two people Bane had coupled with willingly, and the only male, but his logic was unfortunately sound. In that moment, he despised his body for the first time in many years, having over time garnered acceptance for what it was._

_“Very well.” He kept his voice steady, and then could not help but be curious. “What will you do?”_

_Barsad smirked lightly and picked up Bane’s long discarded shirt, soaked in sweat and pheromones, pulling it on along with his own pants. Bane could not help but admire the cleverness there. “Why, I will lure one here using your intoxicating scent, brother.”_

_He chuckled despite the situation and nodded his assent._

_The man Barsad lured was satisfying at first, an alpha. It had taken no small measure of self- control to stave off reacting negatively to him. He was consenting to this, out of necessity, but he had never willingly taken an alpha between his legs. His face was covered in the length of cloth he wrapped around it while they traveled, and the man had seemed confused by the switch from Barsad kissing and nuzzling at his cheek coyly to being guided to Bane, but the scent in the small rented room, the slickness dripping down Bane’s thighs soon convinced him to put aside any questions. Barsad settled into the corner of the room, resting, but his hand never left the hilt of his knife as he watched._

_They went for several hours; he let the haze of need wash over him, knowing Barsad was there still, guarding them though he was tired still. He rolled his hips, let himself desire the fullness and be knotted several times through the night. It was not until the early dawn that things became sour, when the alpha’s tongue was loosened by his daze and he became more possessive, held on more tightly, snarled a low “mine” against the cloth of his cheek._

_He growled lowly in warning, but the man did not heed it. He growled in response, his grip tightened on his shoulders as he leaned over him. “So sweet; you asked for this, bitch. You wouldn’t have taken me if you didn’t need an alpha so desperately. You’re mine, now.”_

_Even in his need it was unsettling, and he bucked. They had changed, as he had grown more relaxed, to his hands and knees, and it made the man above him slightly harder to shake so he pulled forward instead, prepared to turn around and crush his windpipe._

_He slipped from him and heard a death gurgle before he could even fully turn._

_“He is not yours to claim.” Barsad’s voice was a snarl, his lips curled into a sneer as the long knife he held in his grip slid beneath bone and blood spurted from the alpha’s throat in hot gushes. The man whimpered and his eyes rolled back when death claimed him. Barsad discarded him from the bed, his face filled with a spark of rage that Bane had never seen in his brother whose face always held an air of casual relaxation even while he fought. “He is never yours.”_

_He took in the situation for a moment, studied his brother warily._

_“So, you seek to claim me.” His muscles tensed in anger at the thought of such a betrayal when he felt he had always had his brother’s submission, something he treasured in that he thought no omega was given such a thing willingly. Barsad dropped his gaze, held the bloody knife out to him as a humble offering, and the act cooled the flames of his ire._

_“Never, brother. I am yours. I simply will never allow another to claim you as it is not your wish, and I always seek to heed your designs. If I have overstepped…”_

_Bane took the knife and cleaned it, tucked it away. “You have not. Have you regained your energy?”_

_Barsad’s face went from worry to a quirked smile. “I have.”_

_“Dispose of him, then.” He removed the cloth from his face. “And come back to replace his seed in me with your own. It is much preferable.”_

_Though it had ended poorly, the alpha had truly been beneficial, and they were able to break through the heat and travel undetected the next morning. Talia had shown up two weeks later, informing him of his foolishness and that they would no longer be leaving each other’s sides._

____________________

The air had a chill to it, but it was pleasant to breathe in the night sky. He much preferred the rooftops to the streets of Gotham, where the filth lie, and he liked the sewers the least of all though they were a necessity for the time being. He knew Bane did not prefer them, either, that they were too close to his past in nature, but it was truly the only location they could operate in and go unnoticed for so long.

Barsad was a people watcher by nature, though not as one would sit on a bench in the park. The distance he watched from was much farther, where one could not hear words but relied on body language. It passed the time as he waited and watched through his scope. He had long ago learned to read lips and study how people moved so that he would be able to plan his next shot. It was not simply speed that made his skill deadly; he had been honed to know where one would be before they ever moved there.

He watched the confident sway of hips from the hired thief as she sauntered into the bar, an alpha, he assumed by the way she moved, or perhaps not. He did not truly know. Her sway was exaggerated, the confidence was not, and it was an interesting thing. He did not consider himself a free man, as it were, but she was certainly someone he could see himself admiring. It seemed almost a shame that their “employer” would most likely kill her. Not their idea, it made no sense to kill a valuable resource, but at the time it was important to appear as though they were following orders. Mr. John Daggett was building his own grave, high on the fumes of money and superiority, and he would not notice his feat until it was far too late for himself.

Things were quiet; he felt that perhaps he had been over-worried until he heard the sharp wail of sirens in the distance. A shame, he would have preferred over-worried to correct in this instance. The shots were easy, not even a challenge, and his rounds pierced through the Kevlar vests of the swat team, providing cover for their men as they made their escape into the sewers. They were not members of the league, more Daggett’s men than their own, but it was important they were not questioned.

He noted with some amusement that their thief was slipping quietly out the door and into the alleyway. He considered her a moment before hefting his gun. It was a shame to waste talent, and if Daggett’s men were too clumsy to kill her as a group, then Barsad had no trouble with them never knowing he could have picked her off and instead chose not to.

The sounds of sirens were increasing. It was time to disappear, but he needed a closer look. The buildings were pressed tightly together, and he was able to make the leap from one to the next without being seen or heard over the racket below him. The foolish officers below did not even think to look up as he watched right above their heads, so close that he did not even need his scope. He could hear them shouting even after an explosion came up from the sewers. His jaw tightened at it. Someone had panicked and either set off one of their traps or had an explosive of their own; neither one would please Bane.

He should return as soon as possible, work towards damage control. Their plans were too close for this kind of foolishness from the men, and someone would be paying with their life tonight, but he watched a few moments longer to glean information.

“We know what’s down there sir, the police commissioner!”

Interesting. It was surprising that the commissioner himself would be there, would leap down into the sewers, surprising and perhaps more than a little foolish. He readied his gun again, prepared to pick off anyone who might go down and follow in order to buy those below enough time. They could not be followed now, if they were panicked, they might lead the officers straight to their center of command and Bane.

“Someone get this hot-head out of here!”

Barsad wanted to laugh as the clearly frustrated young man looked near helpless when no one heeded his wisdom. Hot-head was a label given to untied young alphas, deserved or not, and it was clear it frustrated the boy. He was quite a young one, not even grown into his ears, really, and yet he was voicing the most logical thought and was unheeded because of his youth and dynamic, typical of society. He had no real connection to him, but he felt an old anger flare slightly at the familiarity there, behavior disregarded in favor of falling on stereotypes to perceive others.

It was time to leave. He was easily able to evade the roaming officers, scaling the rooftops and finding a clear sewer grate, ducking into it. This was why he had memorized them well; he was able to make it back to their center of operations just as the other men were arriving. He carefully set down his rifle and watched as between them they dragged the commissioner… That would not end well. They did not need such rash decision making so close to their goal.

It was no surprise when Bane destroyed one’s windpipe and used the other’s still warm corpse as a tracking device. What was a slight surprise was that Bane bothered to use a gun. It was rare to see his brother pull a trigger, preferring to use his hands. It was a psychological thing, to show his followers and his enemies alike that he only needed his bare hands to destroy them. They exchanged a glance before Bane turned his attention back to the papers that had been discovered on the commissioner’s person. Right, he was to retrieve his own tracking device, Bane wished for this to be handled properly this time.

It was a simple task, but it seemed he had been beaten to the punch. Over the rushing of water he could hear shouting.

“This is officer John Blake, requesting immediate backup—”

More sirens.

He watched for a few moments, pressed into the shadows, and could not help but be impressed as the boy held onto the commissioner tightly, talked to him soothingly until medics came and he was taken away. It was rather atypical, and when the commissioner was gone the lad looked momentarily at a loss for what to do. Barsad didn’t dare stay in the tunnel any longer, not wishing to be detected, but he was not sure how to proceed. He could not take out the commissioner here, and he had seen their base. He would have to report back quickly.

And he had not even been able to recover his GPS.


	4. Chapter 4

“Just BACK it up,” he snapped out in irritation at the construction worker. It really wasn’t rocket science. They had a situation, his huge ass truck needed to move. It should have been obvious, but when no one else seemed to be doing it, Blake had gone over to take care of it.

Of course, he felt like an idiot when the barriers started going up and the worker looked down smugly at him. “Alright, just stay in your vehicle, ok?”

Things hadn’t been going well. Gordon in the hospital, some fucking masked man running around. No one seemed to be taking it seriously. Had no one learned their lesson after the Joker? When someone ran around wearing makeup or a mask and was killing people, you got scared, you took precautions.

Or you just fucking ignored it like everyone else was doing.

It was why he’d gone to see Bruce Wayne.  He was the only man he’d known would take it seriously, or so he’d hoped. It had been a gamble, something he’d been sitting on for a while, but honestly… it had just kind of felt good to say it. He’d figured it out all on his own and he was right, Bruce Wayne was the Batman. That had only been part of the reason, though; it had felt just good to get his own story out, even though it had hurt to say it.

It wasn’t just that Bruce Wayne was an orphan, it was also that he was alone, too, still. There were rumors about how Bruce Wayne, the most eligible alpha in Gotham, had to have been going crazy by now without having picked an omega to breed. He looked fine though. Ok, he didn’t look FINE, but it wasn’t because of THAT. The man had been The Batman, and Blake knew he’d taken more than a beating along with the rap for Harvey Dent’s murder, so he was coping fairly well as far as Blake was concerned. Maybe he could use a shave, and maybe he was a shut-in recluse, but it wasn’t because of his dynamics. Bruce Wayne could clean up, go outside of his home right now and get taken seriously, mated or not. It was amazing and infuriating what status could buy.

Blake was just tired of not getting taken seriously.

He couldn’t dwell on it, though, not while they watched the hostages slowly creeping down the stairs towards them. Something was wrong, very wrong. His shoulders tensed and he kept his gun up and trained. It didn’t help, the robbers barreled through the crowds on their motorcycles and the scene dissolved into chaos. There wasn’t a single clean shot to be had. He cursed and holstered his gun, staying close to Foley and waiting for his orders. He might not like the guy, but he was in charge and Blake wasn’t a fucking “hot-head”; he had no problem following orders if they made sense.

It paid off anyway because suddenly Foley was ordering him into the car to drive.

That damn truck, though, it made them waste precious minutes of time the way it blocked the path.

“Someone should have gotten them to move this damn truck,” Foley muttered, and Blake glanced over.

“I tried, sir, the barriers went up too fast.”

Foley spared him a glance. “Huh, good try anyway, kid. Take us down that alleyway, it’s a squeeze, but we’ll make it.”

He wasn’t sure it was much better than hot-head, but it seemed like an honest praise, so he’d take it.

Also, holy shit. They’d spotted the Batman. He held back his grin as he gripped the steering wheel. He’d helped with that. There was no way he hadn’t, and he couldn’t help but feel proud, and then slightly worried as he listened to Foley order every single officer he could to pursue him.

Part of him understood it. They thought the Batman had killed all of those cops, have killed Harvey Dent who had become Gotham’s symbol of hope. Hell, if he didn’t know in his guts it wasn’t the case, he’d be right there cheering with him. As it was now, though, other reports had been coming in from the radio, from the hostages that were being cleared by the medics. The masked man, he was being reported as part of this, and no one was caring or noticing because they were too busy trying to catch the Batman.

There were ARMED robbers, though, with hostages, and this felt petty, territorial; wasn’t he the one supposed to be feeling like that? Not the beta sitting beside him shouting orders into the radio.

In the end, it didn’t matter. He’d stared in awe as the Batman soared out of the alleyway and through their blockade.

“Are you sure it was him?” he couldn’t help but ask, ignoring the not so amused look he got in return.

It hadn’t been so funny when he read the newspaper. How could no one make that connection? Bruce Wayne suddenly goes broke after a major stock market gets terrorized? Maybe not everyone had the same pieces he was working with, but that seemed like one of the biggest coincidences he’d ever heard in his life. He couldn’t help but take himself to the board meeting he knew had to be occurring, spotting Mr. Wayne as he was attacked from all sides by the media.

“You look like you could use a ride.”

The conversation had been… strange, but exhilarating. He was determined not to freak out, like some sort of fan boy. Bruce took him seriously, though, answered his questions, actually asked how the investigation was going, didn't act territorial about it even with there being two alphas in a car together working on the same thing. He’d hated to admit that he didn’t have a fucking clue where to go next with the stuff he’d gathered, but when he dropped Bruce off in Old Town, it felt like things might actually be ok.

Then they found John Daggett’s body in a dumpster, and everything changed. Suddenly he was a detective, something he’d thought was impossible given his dynamics and single state; he’d been elated, even given the circumstances.

Then Bruce Wayne disappeared.

Then the entire world went to fucking hell.

It was kind of a big week, honestly.

____________________

At last. Mr. Wayne. Barsad had proven his intelligence once again by suggesting they use their thief as a guide for him. She was a very intelligent woman, something he could admire; she would live not only with his blessing, but by her sheer determination to do so at any cost. It was curious that she chose to watch the fight, she was perhaps more sentimental than she seemed, though not enough to intervene.

He could nearly smell Barsad’s worry as he took his former brother to pieces. He wondered if he could sense the heat rising in him. His brother was nearly as in tune to his body as Bane was, it would not surprise him if he could tell a cycle was coming upon him. However, it would do nothing to help Mr. Wayne gain a victory over him. He was soft. Bane was disappointed. He had come to this arena expecting a challenge, something to prove himself with, to show his men his victory as something hard-earned but his right. He could not deny that part of it came from his desire to always prove himself, to prove that his body did not rule him.

Instead he received this… fragility. Bane had used his injuries to strengthen himself. Mr. Wayne had wallowed in them as a crutch. It was angering. He let his frustration show through when he lifted him above his head and snapped his body over his knee.

He watched dispassionately as the broken body was carried away. Barsad stood behind him, watching the others around them with quick flicking glances until they were alone.

“Brother…”

He held up his hand to stall him. “It will last until what is needed to be done is done.”

Barsad accepted this with a small nod and went to make certain the plane was prepared. Bane could understand his concern. Time was of the essence, but the culmination of all of their long work was at hand. He was determined to last.

And last he did. Through the brief reuniting with Talia, through the activating of their weapon of deliverance; though he had to sit down for just a few moments during the procedure, Barsad had quietly handed him a vial that morning.

_“It will mask the scent in the early stages, brother.”_

He had been grateful, and applied it judiciously to be practical, though he did not feel he was giving off scent yet. He could feel it building slowly, though. He had a day, perhaps two. It would be a strong one, ones that he felt this far in advance tended to be. He wondered, not for the first time, if it was his body’s reaction to stress that triggered his irrational heats, for they always occurred at the worst of times. It was nearly amusing that his body seemed to see danger as a signal to mate. Were he able to conceive, it would truly be an unfortunate time to bring a child into the world; clearly, his body was mad.

By the time they were storming Black Gate, he could feel it coming onto him. The sudden overheating of his body, his coat suddenly feeling as though it was too much warmth on his person, too much sensation over his skin. He could not stop his speech, though, he could not fail now. He finished, watched as his new army poured out of the broken walls of the prison with some bitter contempt knowing that while they followed him now, any man knowing what he was would try to take him as an object if they knew the truth of him.

He nearly snarled at the sudden hand on his shoulder, but it was only Barsad, an empty bag slung over his shoulder. “Sir. If you are ready, I can take you back to base.”

“Very well.”

Barsad ordered the driver from the tumbler and drooped down to take his place behind the wheel. Bane lowered himself, slower, more carefully, feeling the sensitivity in his body as he sat down and closed the door behind him.

“How bad is it?” Barsad’s hand hovered, like he was unsure if he should touch or not before it finally rested on his thigh. He sighed, touched his wrist lightly.

“It will be difficult, poor timing as always.”

Barsad only nodded, his hand smoothing over his leg, and Bane’s body relaxed to the familiar touch. The timing still could not be worse. Now was the time he would need to be showing his face throughout Gotham, becoming a symbol for the supposed revolution. How would it seem if he disappeared suddenly for two, possibly three days along with his second in command?

He tilted his head suddenly in realization.

“You are not going to the sewers.”

“You are very observant,” Barsad remarked. “And here I was worried your heat took your senses from y—”

His words were cut off when Bane cuffed him lightly on the back of the head. “Where?”

Barsad rubbed his head, but he smiled slightly. “I thought it would not do for your scent to be taken in within the tunnels. I know where there is a suddenly vacant apartment.”

“That is for the best, it does not solve the problem in its entirety, however.”

“I can do what I can… hope that it will be a lighter one?” Barsad suggested, and Bane wished he could agree, but he did not find hope to be a welcome thing in his heart and so he squashed it.

“It will be severe. We will do what is necessary.” It was an unspoken thing, but he knew Barsad would understand.

“Yes, brother, I will find someone.”


	5. Chapter 5

The air in the tumbler was becoming cloying even with the blocker he had given his brother. He could feel the confines of his pants becoming very uncomfortable, indeed. His heart ached for his brother, though. He wished Talia was here for him, that they could be enough to ease him. The last time they had tried such a thing it had gone quite poorly, and he doubted this would prove much better. Alphas, they were like animals. They would simply destroy the one Barsad brought to sate Bane after the task was complete.

His brother's steps were steady still. He knew they would be unless he was in dire need indeed. He resisted putting a hand on his shoulder, knowing it was not needed or wanted at the moment. He took a moment and radioed one of their members, instructing him to pick up the tumbler and take it back to their base of operations. It would not do to leave it suspiciously out in the open.

The thief’s apartment; it was empty, though many of her possessions were still there to be claimed. She had been sent to prison and was sure to have escaped with the rest, but he doubted she would come here so quickly. Still, he spoke with her contact, informed her that she was to stay away for several days along with Ms. Kyle. He was sure it would be heeded; she had a healthy, wise fear of his brother.

He settled him, checked the medication levels to assure it would not need to be changed, and made sure his brother ate and drank enough to sustain him through the heat. Bane did not like to eat in front of him, but it was a necessity for time’s sake and he politely looked away as he unstrapped the mask and kept it close to his face, breathing in the medication between swallows of food. He tried to make sure the bedding was comfortable while he waited, even knowing his brother would find such a thing frivolous. His brother had always seen to his needs, and if he could not fully see to his then he would do what he could.

_“Barsad… what are you doing?” Bane’s voice did not sound amused, or annoyed, it was genuinely curious and that, perhaps, made it even worse. He stilled where he sat on the bedding, facing away from Bane, his hand over his cock which was aching and protesting the sudden stopping of his stroking it to attention. He tried to keep his voice steady, keep the embarrassment out of it._

_“It is nothing. I did not know you were awake.”_

_Bane’s hand touched heavily onto his hip, squeezing the bare flesh there. They were sharing bedding, as they often did since he had submitted to him verbally, but he had truly thought his brother was sleeping soundly. It had been some time since Bane’s last heat, but he always smelled pleasant to him.  He often heated his blood with his strength, his wonderful camaraderie. Unlike Bane, he was a man of the flesh still, and he had been trying to take care of such things as privately as possible._

_“It is not nothing… are you in heat? You should have said something… you know I cannot smell it in the same manner as others.” His voice now only sounded scolding, and Barsad wished that that were actually the case. He had not gone into a heat since he had joined with his brother. He had only experienced three in his lifetime, but he knew without asking that Bane, or perhaps Talia, would soothe him through it. For all of the unpleasantness a heat brought, he could not say that the idea didn’t send a shiver through him, the thought of Bane between his thighs, of Talia’s soft skin…_

_Now was perhaps not the time to be thinking of such things._

_“No, it is not… I was simply… doing it for the pleasure of it,” he finally admitted, feeling a slight flush to his face that he had not felt since boyhood._

_Bane made a confused noise and sat up finally. “I do not understand.”_

_Of course he would not. He groaned inwardly. “It is… something men and women do at times, even when they are not in heat.”_

_“Betas?” he questioned, and Barsad could see his eyes on his cock, watching him curiously._

_“I do not know if others do it, I assume that many do, regardless of their dynamic.”_

_“So it is not heat?”_

_“No, it is simply… a desire.”_

_Bane seemed to consider this a moment. “For me?”_

_It was very damning the fact that he could never lie to his brother._

_He answered carefully, instead. “It is something that many do as simply a desire for release… without it springing from desire for another person.”_

_Bane rumbled softly with amusement behind him. “I see.”_

_He gasped as he was pulled into his brother’s lap and his hand found him, wrapped around his slicked length. A low moan left him; he could feel himself twitch in his brother’s hold, his hand so warm and rough even with the wet._

_“It is a curious thing,” he finally seemed to decide, “but simple enough to fulfill such a need.”_

_He choked back a cry as his brother began to work his cock, slow strokes from the base of him to his tip until he forgot his embarrassment, forgot many things save his brother’s wonderful hand, how he held him perfectly, and his scent, his warmth surrounded him._

_He found himself reaching completion quickly, his knot swelling. Bane wrapped his other hand around it, held him tightly as he tried to buck into him and finally shuddered his completion in thick spurts, coating his brother’s hands. He continued to hold him through it, not speaking until Barsad slumped against him, feeling boneless as he panted and leaned his head back against his brother’s chest._

_“A very curious thing.”_

_He could not help but laugh breathlessly. “Thank you for your assistance, brother.”_

_Bane made a small noise of agreement and did not move him yet. He selfishly allowed himself a few moments longer of feeling his body._

_…A body that was, perhaps, a bit more firm against where he sat than one might think if his brother was completely unaffected by what had occurred. He shifted just slightly, merely to see if he was perhaps imagining things, but he could indeed feel the half-hard press of Bane digging into his back. It made him squirm. He wondered if it was perhaps too bold for him to offer reciprocation._

_Then he remembered that his brother had always respected his actions when they were done with intentions born of his devotion to him and their sister._

_Or at least, that was what he told himself when he turned carefully in his hold so he could face him. “Brother… may I offer you the same courtesy?”_

_Bane’s brow crinkled, not in displeasure but in amusement, perhaps curiosity. “I do not seem to have this desire you do, brother, I do not see the need for myself.”_

_Fortune favored the brave._

_“Need? Perhaps not, brother,” he agreed and leaned closer, let his thumb swirl a light trail against his brother’s neck, a motion he knew that his brother enjoyed in his heats but not one he had performed outside of them. “But sometimes such things can be a pleasure in themselves.”_

_He knew, though one would not guess so looking at Bane, that he understood the need to relax, to regain one’s spirits through it. Barsad had watched him peruse through a book. He played games of chess with several of the men, and the two of them had spent more than one day trapped uselessly indoors, plans put on hold due to sandstorms or flooding depending on the region of the world they were in, lazily flicking cards into their boots in a casual competition. Bane was, though he might try to appear not to be to all outsiders, quite human, and perhaps more human than most. He could understand the pursuit of such things as more than just frivolity if they were not done in the excess as was seen in the decadence of Gotham._

_Bane’s hand caught his wrist, his thumb pressed tightly into the bone. Barsad let it hang limp, tilted his head back, bared his neck and throat without hesitation. He could barely suppress the need to shiver when he felt the cool press of metal to his neck, the breath puff from it in an almost fond amusement. “You are very clever, my brother.”_

_“Clever enough to allow me to show you I am not wrong?”_

_“Clever enough that I do not doubt you to begin with. Show me.”_

_His could not help the flicker of triumph on his face. He knew Bane could see it, as well, heard the amused sound he made and felt the light pull of thick fingers tugging his hair._

_“I would be more than delighted, brother.” He slipped from the warmth of his lap, nimble fingers working opening the thick canvas of his pants, all that his brother had worn to rest in. He drew him from his pants, only slightly hard, a rarity. By the time Barsad had him during a heat he was stiff, leaking out and so heavy in his hand. It was novelty to be the one to work him to that now._

_He listened to the soft sigh above his head and he felt pride in his chest as he palmed his brother to stiffness, rubbed his inner thighs and dug his fingers into the tight skin of his belly, scratching over it and leaving a bright red trail. His brother became hotter in his hand as he stroked down the length of his shaft, playing with the velvet smooth skin, tracing his thumb over his loose foreskin and drawing it down. He felt him twitch and nearly grinned when he could see fluid beginning to seep from the head of his cock._

_His brother’s eyes were closed now, his breathing faster, and the thrush of red along his throat filled Barsad with fresh desire, reminded him of past heats and how Bane would allow him to lick and worry at the skin of his throat, a sure sign of trust. He flicked his tongue slowly over his own lips to wet them contemplatively before he ducked down gracefully, held fast to the base of his brother cock, slipped him into his mouth and reveled at the sharp hiss of air from the mask, the heavy taste of him on his tongue. He was so thick. He stretched his jaw and moaned low in his throat as he tried to memorize the feel of him passing over his lips, lapped over the head of him to draw out more of his bitter, tempting flavor._

_It was a ‘beta thing’ to suck cock, to lick a pussy. There was no point for it in a heat, when all energy was to be focused on filling, on fucking, breeding. Only betas were uncaring enough about such things to waste precious seed and energy on those acts._

_He felt a bit of vindication well up in him over how his brother moaned for it._

_His fingers went to his hair and dull nails scraped over his scalp, pulled at the sensitive hair on the back of his neck and sent tingles through him._

_“Barsad…” It was almost uncertain. He drew back, open-mouthed and lips wet, flicked his tongue out, teased the tip of him as he checked his brother’s eyes, saw a bit of wonder there._

_“Does it please you?”_

_He would have laughed when his brother’s response was to pull him back onto his cock insistently, but his mouth was otherwise occupied. He slurped at him, hollowed his cheeks and sucked him down deeper, felt him bump at the back of this throat and swallowed around him. Bane was groaning above him, low, throaty rumbles that were familiar to him now and sent heat to his core. He could not resist stroking his own reviving cock back to life as he sucked and grunted, felt wetness in his eyes from his protesting throat and lungs before he drew back and sucked in air._

_He suckled until his brother’s knot was swelling, and he took it tightly in his fist. His own need had come back to him strongly and he pumped himself faster, the heady scent and flavor of Bane in his mouth, the knowledge of serving him. He was near desperate through his second release, panting around the head of his brother’s cock, placing sucking, wet kisses to it. They nearly came together, Bane first with a low roar of pleasure and himself with a sharply gasped out cry of bliss. He spilled messily onto the bedding and felt his brother paint his face with scorching stripes of his seed. It warmed his already swollen hot lips, dripped into his hair and smeared through his beard. He felt satisfied by it, overwhelmed, and took a moment to lay his head in his brother’s lap and pant, hoping the action would not be minded too terribly._

_He nearly trembled with he felt his brother’s rough hands rubbing the splatters of semen into his skin, his hair, his beard, rubbing his scent into his body, marking him, a possessive claiming much more in line of alphas._

_“It is… not without merit.”_

_Barsad laughed hoarsely, and Bane’s finger’s stilled over his cheek. Barsad wondered if it was because his brother liked how his voice had changed from sucking him. “If you should wish it again… I am always happy to serve you.”_

_“You are,” Bane acknowledged. It went without saying now that Barsad’s life was his. He seemed to contemplate a few moments. “The drive to find completion, it is less strong, but it feels more... enticing, appealing, to not have biology forcing its fickle whims down one’s throat."_

_Barsad could not help but be amused by the choice in wording, but he nodded in understanding. His own sparse heats had been mind-addling things, not as severe as an omega’s, but they had felt quite strong indeed when the unexpected need hit him. He had found willing partners through each of them and enjoyed them for what they were, but he also enjoyed coupling that had nothing to do with heat._

_“You will tell me… when this desire strikes you again,” Bane ordered, and Barsad nodded in a near embarrassingly eager obedience, vowing to pick up a bottle of lubrication so that he might even perhaps be able to entice his brother between his thighs. If not, there were many things indeed it could be used for if Bane wished to relax with him._


	6. Chapter 6

Now it was his turn to care for his brother. He persuaded him to strip his shirt, to lie down, privately glad that there was a bed for this and not the usual cot or pallet, and ran a hand slowly across the scar of his brother’s back.

“You are being sentimental,” Bane pointed out with a small measure of irritation, but his hand was not ordered away and so he sat and waited until his brother began to sweat and his rich scent filled the room. When he was deeply enough into it that Barsad was sure his scent would be beyond resistible to any alpha, he took his shirt and rubbed it along his brother’s body briskly, picking up his sweat and heavy pheromones. His own cock ached and swelled and he wished he could be the one to take his brother, but there was no time. He wrapped the shirt up in a plastic bag and gave his brother a pat, knowing he was truly deep into his heat when Bane’s spine curled into the touch with more need than he would ever show otherwise.

“I will return as quickly as possible,” he promised.

He was uncertain where to start, truly. The streets were in a chaos and all men and women knew to avoid those dressed as he was, but he was used to stealth. He scoured the area, looking for those alone. It was a curious thing, then, to see of all men, the police officer. Barsad was uncertain how he was not trapped deep in the earth with his fellows. He found himself begrudgingly impressed.

He was also curious as to why he was poking around the alleyway of the apartment complex he had just left. It truly did not matter, though. He was alpha, surely virile, and Barsad could find himself accepting that he did not seem to be a truly terrible option. He was beautiful in a lost sort of way, and perhaps his brother would enjoy that before they ended him. It would do no good to have any witnesses, after all.

He was nothing more than a shadow in the alleyway as he slipped behind the snooping lad, silently unwrapping his bag.

____________________

It had all been based on a lie. Blake’s mind was still reeling from the implications. How many men had been rotting in jail? Did they really deserve it? Sure, he had no doubt some, hell, maybe a lot did, but that didn’t make it ok. That made them no better than what was happening now with all of this philosophical revolutionary bullshit.

He’d left the apartment, stormed out of it, ignoring Gordon’s warning that he shouldn’t be on the streets. Fuck Gordon. He’d believed in him. He’d thought he was different, that he was above all of this bullshit. He couldn’t believe he’d looked up to him. Yeah, Blake knew maybe this wasn’t exactly the thing to be thinking about at the time, but he could admit he had trust issues and it hurt, it cut into him like a knife that he’d actually put faith into someone and had it ripped up like that.

He just had to get some air, but he wasn’t an idiot. It sure as hell wasn’t safe. It looked like a warzone already. He could hear gunshots in the distance, and he felt torn between running towards them and running away from them. He had his Glock on him, tucked away carefully, but he was one person, and he sure as hell wasn’t Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne. Was he even alive? Ms. Kyle had said she didn’t know, but he wanted to talk to her again. She’d sealed her lips the second after she’d said she didn’t know if Wayne was dead or not, had refused to say another word to him. With everything happening, maybe she’d be willing to talk a little more. She had been in Blackgate, he knew that, had kept an eye on her, planning to interrogate her again, but obviously she was out and about just like the thousands of other inmates running rampant in the streets, taking up arms as Bane’s personal army.

Wayne had wanted to be dropped off in Old Town when he’d seen him last. That’s where he’d spotted Ms. Kyle later when he tried to check up on him. It didn’t take two and two to put together that they’d met just before his disappearance. It’s why he’d questioned her to begin with. He didn’t have access to police records, but he had a feeling her apartment wouldn’t be so hard to find.

There was a chance that she’d gone back to it after leaving the prison, even if it was just to get some of her old things. Maybe it was crazy to be perusing this kind of angle in the middle of a war, but it was something he’d been mulling over in his head, all of these little coincidences working together, and even though he was angry at Gordon, he wasn’t allowed to believe in coincidences anymore. She had to know more than what she had told him, and he was going to find out what it was.

It didn’t go exactly as planned.

He was crouched in the alleyway, trying to find a way to slip into the chained-up back entryway so he wouldn’t be seen going inside. There were plenty of people on the streets still, and he didn’t know what he’d find in the apartment. He was just considering climbing up onto the dumpster and trying to jump up to grab the nearest fire escape ladder when he was being grabbed. Quick, deadly arms wrapped around him. He shouted and struggled against deceivably slender arms that held him in an iron grip, forced his own to remain down at his sides.

He tried to slam his attacker bodily back against the brick wall of the apartment buildings. “Get off of me!” his shout was cut off when there was suddenly cloth was covering his face, a rough hand smothering it against him, clamping it tight in an unbreakable grip. He shouted into the cloth, muffled completely.

There was a sharp order hissed out beside his ear. “Be quiet. Breathe.”

Don’t breathe, then. The last thing he wanted to do was breathe, apparently. God only knew what chemicals the hood over his head had been doused with, something to knock him out or even kill him. He wished he could reach his gun. He could feel it. The attacker’s arm was crushed against it as he held him tight.

Don’t breathe. Don’t breathe.

Unfortunately, lungs could only obey such an order for so long, and his were already burning, fiery in his chest as they longed to take in air, their need only exasperated by the earlier brief but rough struggle. He held on, digging his nails into the arm that held him fast, grip going weaker as his lungs felt about to explode.

“Do not be foolish. Just breathe.”

He couldn’t. His body gave up and he gasped up lungfuls of air through the cloth covering his face.

He could remember the night he’d differentiated, how the world had suddenly smelled entirely different. People had smelled different. They’d made him feel funny when he sniffed them. The first whiff of a vial of synthesized omega pheromones as a test and his subsequential low whimper of desire and the sudden swelling of his dick had sealed his fate as "Alpha." He hadn’t smelled anything like it since then, most omegas handled their heats carefully with suppressants or kept inside of their home during a heat.

He’d certainly never smelled the scent of a real one.

He nearly convulsed when the intoxicating scent ran through his body. Suddenly the arms holding him in place were also holding him up when his knees nearly dropped him into a heap on the filthy pavement.

He heard the low laugh behind him and whimpered.

“That’s it, boy,” it encouraged, and Blake didn’t have a choice, he couldn’t move that hand, couldn’t make that amazing scent go away. The blood rush to his cock was so fast it hurt. He needed, oh fuck, he needed. He tried to squirm away, whimpering again because this was confusing as shit, but the cloth stayed, and he kept taking in those pheromones, felt his body responding so sharply to them.

“Shh, just breathe.”

Easy for them. Easy for them to say; he was dying inside. It was a sharp ache that throbbed through his body.  He needed to rut. There was an omega here somewhere, and he needed it, needed that heat, needed it wet and open for him, needed to rut it until it was sweet and mewling under him, his, his omega.

His brain felt sticky, felt like it was slowing down, only his baser thoughts were coming out. The thought of ‘breed, breed, breed’ echoed again and again in his mind. He wanted.

He growled a little in aggravation when he still couldn’t move. When he was trapped there, sucking in the sweet scent of the omega he needed when he could be having it. It smelled so good, though, strong; he mouthed at the cloth needily, took great eager huffs from it now.

That seemed to be what the man behind him had been waiting for. “There you go.” He let go of the cloth and Blake snapped it up. It was a shirt; he rubbed his face into it and groaned.

“Come on.”

He shouldn’t go, but how could he not? This man had to know where that omega was. He could lead him to it, and then he could have it. He moaned at the idea. He was leaking in his pants now, so ready. He let himself be pulled along into the apartment complex, felt his body behind searched for a moment and wanted to fight when he felt his gun being deftly plucked away, but he couldn’t think. Everything in the air was so thick.

He was pushed up the stairs, and he went. In the back of his mind he might have fought, might have been slightly scared that this, this was something he’d feared happening to him his whole life. He didn’t do this. He didn’t want an omega, but God, he did. He needed, needed so bad that he yanked at the door the man stopped in front of, twisted at the handle in irritation. He got laughed at again and he wanted to snap at him. He was just a beta, he could tell. He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand needs, or desires, or omegas or heats.

“Let me in. Let me IN.”

“Patience.”

He swore and yanked his hands back. They were trembling, and he tried to still them as the man unlocked the door. He pushed it open, rushed inside, nearly falling over at how hot the room felt. The cloth he’d been rubbing over his face was nothing compared to how the room was filled with that cloying musk. He dropped his head back and opened his mouth, panting, tasting it on his tongue.

“You were faster than I imagined.” There was a voice. It was familiar, but he was too addled, too clouded up inside, and it couldn’t possibly be as important as finding that omega.

“Fate left us a gift in the alleyway,” the man explained, and Blake wanted him gone. He felt a growl trying to rise up in his throat that he was there. This wasn’t for betas.

“Get out.”

There was laughter then, two sets of voices. He hated being laughed at, and he finally opened his eyes to glare.

He wished he hadn’t. His brain cleared like he’d been dunked into ice water.

Bane.

Bane was there, slowly rising from the bed, staring down at him intently.

“He seems scrawny.”

“I am sure his youthful stamina will be beneficial.”

He was going to die, and he was really confused about it, to be honest. He backed up, nearly tripping over himself, but the door was already clicked shut behind him. There was the sound of a lock snapping closed and sealing him inside with them.

Bane chuckled. It was terrifying, a static-like hiss through his mask as he walked closer. He opened his mouth to talk, but words were failing him. He didn’t understand why, why he’d been lured here by what had to be Bane’s omega in heat or something. He wasn’t special. Even if this was some sick way to pick off cops, how could they have even known he was one? Did they know he had Gordon hidden away in his apartment? He’d never tell them where he was.

Bane was so close he had to crane his neck to meet his eyes. Jesus Christ, what a monster. The news feed just didn’t do him justice; he should sue, he should fucking sue those cameramen. He was babbling in his own head, he couldn’t think, that damning omega scent. He couldn’t take it.

Bane’s hand grasped sharply under his chin, so rough it felt like his jaw was going to pop. He grunted and gripped at his wrist, knowing how ridiculous it was. He had all of the might of a baby sheep when compared to this behemoth. Bane could snap his neck right then. That’s probably precisely what he was going for.

He yelped when he was tugged forward, his face smashed up against Bane’s chest, and he struggled. He was tired of getting his face smashed into things and—

Oh.

Oh, holy fuck.


	7. Chapter 7

A sharp whimper of pure want ripped out of him when his lips pressed into the sweat on Bane’s chest, when he’d licked them unconsciously and suddenly his tongue was assaulted with musk and salt, need and heat. He was floored. Bane. How could Bane of all people be an omega?

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he swore. Nothing made sense. NOTHING made sense at all. He couldn’t help it, though; he licked an eager stripe over the skin under his lips, perfect, hot. That was omega, and his body didn’t care, it didn’t give a single FUCK that it was Bane and that Blake couldn’t stick his dick into the man who had just taken over the entire city with a nuclear bomb. Even if he could, there was no way Bane would let him. He wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking that’s why he was here. He must have mistaken the other man, the one who lured him, for a beta. He must secretly be Bane’s alpha and have the self-control of a castrated monk not to be rutting between Bane’s hot, slick, thighs—

Blake whimpered.

“Are you certain you did not find me a pup, instead, brother?”

“Oh, f-fuck you. Fuck you.” Probably the stupidest idea he’d ever had, to be cursing out BANE, but he couldn’t handle everything at once. He licked at his skin again, perfect, perfect skin. “Just, just fucking kill me and get it over with.”

Bane made an amused sound. “Then Barsad would need to begin his quest anew, and I fear I have not the patience. You will simply have to wait to die.”

He wasn’t sure what that meant or if he should be arguing it or not. What he did know what was that Bane was walking back to the bed. He didn’t saunter, didn’t roll his hips like an omega in heat SHOULD. He stalked, graceful; how was he so graceful with all of his mass? His pants were sliding down and Blake zeroed in on him, on the trail of slick running in a line down his powerful thighs.

Need hit him again, it ripped into him and he felt like there were hooks and needles under his skin, twisting and turning him however they wanted.

“Please.” He could barely recognize his own voice. “Oh God, please let me.”

It was ridiculous and he didn’t care. He just didn’t care, he had to try to rut into that. He had to try to get Bane on his knees so he could take him how he should. He was strong, Bane was so strong, but he was still an omega, wasn’t he? They couldn’t control themselves in heat.

“Come on… Come on, you need it…” He forced his legs to work so he could go to the bed. He was trying to scramble out of his clothes as fast as he could and getting nowhere; buttons were too confusing, his belt was about to make him throw a fucking temper tantrum. His cock was digging into the zipper of his jeans so roughly it was probably leaving marks.

Bane merely looked at him in amusement.

“Come on! I know you do!” He glanced at the other man, Barsad. Was he really an alpha? Maybe he had been right the first time, he was a beta. He was no contest. “Come on, I can give you what you NEED.” He hated himself more than a little bit for being reduced to this, to everything he’d hated, but he couldn’t care.

“You are in a very poor position to be giving orders, little one.”

He growled. Forget the swearing, that was the stupidest mistake he’d ever made. He was on the floor in an instant, head smacking down hard on the wood flooring as Bane’s foot calmly crushed his throat with an air of indifference.

“You. Will not growl. Is that understood?”

He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to answer, really. He was choking. He tried to grab at Bane’s ankle. He didn’t claw, he had enough presence of mind to just give it a tap, try to convince the guy that he wouldn’t be growing at him again anytime in the near future if he just let him breathe.

Bane glanced over at Barsad. “Leave us. You are needed to maintain order.”

“Brother…”

“I know you wish to stay, but it is too vital that one of us is present. Return at nightfall.”

He still couldn’t breathe, so he couldn’t even gasp at how strange it was to see the other smaller man come over, press his fingers lightly down onto the fucking monstrosity on Bane’s face, delicate, like it was fragile, not the heavy coils and tough leather that Blake could see.

“Yes, brother.”

Blake couldn’t see him go, but he could hear the door close. His vision was dimming when Bane finally turned his attention back onto him, lifted his foot off so he could take in air which he did gratefully.

“I will not be so lenient again.”

He coughed hoarsely, feeling the sting in his throat. It was terrible because, in the grand scheme of it, he could barely feel it. He just needed him so badly that it fucking felt worth choking over. He scrambled up, nodding his head like an idiot.

“Ok, ok,” he agreed readily, forcing himself up onto weak knees, hating himself all the more. He felt like he was helpless. How could he be the one feeling dumb and helpless, sitting there on the floor in clothes he couldn’t even fucking get off because his fingers stopped working while Bane, the omega, the one who was supposed to be so out of it he couldn’t think, was there, naked and stunning and completely in control?

He was fucking pathetic. He was the worst fucking alpha in the world. He couldn’t handle this. Alphas were supposed to be the ones in control, the ones soothing the omega through their heat, the ones putting them on their knees, and here was Blake, on his knees out of his mind; he couldn’t be any less in control. He whined sadly and sagged against Bane’s thigh, just so he could be close, just so he could touch his skin and smell his scent better. It was the closest he was going to get.

“Please, please,” he chanted softly, rubbing, fucking NUZZLING into Bane’s thigh, knowing it would be getting him nowhere, but he couldn’t keep the words in his mouth. He suddenly felt fingers in his hair, sifting through it, and he butted up against them, his body too eager for attention to hold back.

“An alpha, begging an omega?” His tone sounding curious, amused, and Blake wanted to be angry, but the anger inside just wasn’t coming up; it was being shoved down by need. He nodded, instead, and a pair of those thick fingers were stroking across his cheek. He just wanted a taste. He mouthed over them, felt Bane still them in surprise, and he slid them between his lips, tasting sweat and heat and skin. It was a heavy, heady weight on his tongue, and he whined around them, sucked them wetly, only welcoming it when Bane slid another into his mouth.

It helped somehow, to calm him, to just be able to suck on those fingers, feel them rub against his tongue a little and not have to think or concentrate on how hot he felt, how much it hurt to not be inside of Bane.  They were pulled away too soon, though, and Blake couldn’t taste him anymore. He wanted to growl, but Bane’s fingers were against his lips still, pressing on them, pinching and pulling them a little until he made a noise of discomfort and opened his mouth.

“I did not know that an alpha could act quite like this,” Bane commented as though Blake were an interesting experiment, a video for him to watch at his leisure. Blake hadn’t known, either. He’d seen videos, scholastic videos, pornos, all of them showed the alpha on top, and yeah, sometimes the omega was the same size, or even a little taller, but they weren’t a powerhouse like Bane.

Omegas were naturally smaller, weaker. Blake might as well be the omega here, submitting to Bane. That thought sent another shudder through him, of not having to be the one in control like he’d never wanted to be, of being soothed and touched. It was accompanied by a sharp pang of self-loathing. Alphas didn’t want that shit.

Oh God, but he wanted anything Bane would give him right now. He begged again, hearing the soft whine in his throat, rubbed his forehead against Bane’s wet fingers, the brace around his wrist. He was probably pissing the man off. He’d probably get bored and snap his neck any second now, but then at least this feeling would end. There was a soft rumble. Bane was laughing, LAUGHING at him, fuck him, fuck him, God, he wanted to fuck him. He bit at his fingers, but with no real strength to it, more a nip, and he yelped when it got him a flick on the nose.

“Enough.” Impossibly strong arms forced him up. He could barely stand on his knees, and he wobbled when Bane made him look up.

“I will take you into my bed, but I expect you to remain how you have shown me now. If you try to force, or act as my better, I will crush your windpipe.”

He didn’t ask for confirmation. He didn’t need it, Blake realized, because that’s exactly what would happen. His brain was only latching onto thoughts like “bed” and “oh thank God,” though. He nodded because words were going to fail him at this point, and Bane let him go. He barely managed to not slump back down on the floor. He could do this. He just had to be good for Bane, not act like an idiot, not mouth off, not growl, and he’d get to breed into him like he needed.

He was doomed.

He tugged at his clothes and that was the first time he growled, barely a minute into it and he was going to die. He waited to feel Bane’s fingers on his throat, but apparently growling at clothing was ok. His fingers were pushed aside, and Bane’s hands were there, nimbly working open his belt, unzipping him, working him out and just that had him trying to buck eagerly off of the bed and into Bane’s hands. He was leaking out, making a mess all over his fingers, then he was being let go too quickly.

“Lie down.”

He didn’t understand how exactly he was going to mount Bane if he was lying on his back, but his brain was purely working on listening at the moment. Listening was getting him good things, listening was getting him closer to his omega. He flopped back onto the sheets and watched Bane with hazy, hooded eyes. He was gorgeous; he was power and muscle and sex.

Hands, hot, heavy hands were on him again, patting his chest and his sides through the thick material of his jacket which he’d managed to mostly unzip, through his shirt. He thought Bane was trying to feel him up at first. It felt good, getting rubbed all over even if it was with all of his stupid clothing still on. He hated clothing right now. Then he realized dimly that he was being frisked, searched with all of the precision he’d been taught to use at the academy.

It had been a bad idea to tuck his handcuffs into his jacket. He’d done it as a non-violent precaution, just in case he needed to cuff someone so he could get away. Bane held them in his hand, tilted his head.

“You are an officer of the law.”

He opened his mouth and choked on his tongue.

“Curious, that you managed to evade the tunnels.” Bane’s voice was nearly conversational as he pulled Blake’s arms up. He jumped, hearing the clicks and feeling cold metal against the wrists. Cuffed to the headboard by his own cuffs, how humiliating.

He couldn’t think about that for long, though, because Bane was climbing over him, spreading his thighs and sliding over his body. He was mounting HIM, not to fuck into him, but to use him how he wanted. Omegas didn’t do that. Omegas needed hands and knees or they didn’t feel good enough and you’d never break their heat. Didn’t Bane know that? Hadn’t he ever learned that in school? Maybe he should tell him.

That ridiculous thought was dashed away when Bane had him in his hand again, when a rough thumb dragged over the underside of his cock. He bit down into his lip sharply to stop all of the obscene noises that wanted to come out of him. Bane was guiding him against his hole. He should be doing that, he should be doing the guiding.

He bucked up, tried to push in, to help, to do SOMETHING, and Bane crushed his hip down onto the bed with the flat of his palm. It sent a flare of pain through his stomach, something that reminded him that what he was doing now was deadly. It made him pulse out another dribble of precome and whimper louder, his stupid body only recognizing the pain and forcing it into its very focused view on pleasure at this point.

“S-so—” He tried to choke out an apology, but Bane was there, he was RIGHT there, hot against his body, and even with his hip being crushed down he couldn’t stop the minute efforts of his hips to surge up and push in, getting nowhere.

He shook when those fingers dug into his bone.

“Tell me, officer, are you not better than your actions now are showing me?”

He squinted, vision swimming at Bane looked down at him intently.

“Or are you nothing more than your instincts? Nothing more than what your body tells you to be?”

_Angry kid. Cool off. Hothead._

He took a long, shaky breath, saw his vision clear, and stared up into the pale grey eyes looking down at him.

“I’m not.” He put as much force into his tone as he could. He wasn’t. He wasn’t just this. He was so much more than just this, and he wasn’t going to die not showing that.

His answer seemed to surprise Bane. Maybe the fact that he could even form words right now surprised him.

Bane looked like he was studying him. “You have a fire in you, don’t you?”

“I’m not a fucking animal. I avoided this my whole fucking life.” He was slurring, but it was at least recognizable as words.

“You have not been intimate?”

“No, fuck no. I’ve been with betas.”

Bane ticked his head to the side curiously. “I was not aware that an alpha would bed a beta... What is your name?”

“John, John Blake.” He didn’t know why he told him his first name, why he almost spit out his entire legal name. There didn’t seem much point in keeping it a secret, though; if Bane was going to kill him, he wasn’t going to die as some anonymous police officer. “And yeah, just betas. I never— I never wanted anything like this to happen.” He winced. His brain was fogging again.

Bane made a curious sound. His fingers touched lightly over Blake’s lips, and he bit his tongue to resist sucking on them again. “That would make two of us, John Blake… Perhaps you will survive this, after all… if you can show restraint.”

“I don’t… I don’t know if I can. It HURTS.”

“Then you are an animal.” Bane removed his fingers from his mouth and gave him a dismissive look. “And you deserve your fate.”

He yanked on the cuffs, felt the cold metal bite into his wrists, give him clarity again. “I’m not just a fucking animal.”

“No?”

“No,” he spat out. “Never.”

Bane looked… pleased? The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement, and it was almost as if he was smiling slightly. “Then you will survive.”

A moment of clarity struck him. “Wait, wait, what about…” How the fuck was he supposed to ask Bane if they should be using a rubber? “Uhm, protection?” He felt like an idiot even saying it. Even though everything inside of him was burning to fill Bane, breed him, the idea of actually creating a child was a cold splash in the face.

Bane rumbled in amusement. “Perhaps you are not as lost as you seem. It is not needed.” He seemed to decide he was done talking to him then.

Blake nearly bit his tongue clean in two when he felt Bane sliding down onto him. Amazing, wet, scorching heat slowly swallowed him up. It tried to consume him, made bliss pool in his belly. His nerves were on fire. He keened and snapped his head back, but he didn’t move his goddamn hips. It took every bit of wit he had left in his skull, but he didn’t move his fucking hips, not even when he heard the low rumble of pleasure come from Bane.

He sounded incredible. Blake just wanted to rut up into him as hard as he could, piston his hips into that slick, tight wet until he swelled up, knotted thick into him and poured his come into Bane, filled him until it was dripping out of him, until he could smell himself all over Bane’s skin. That was how it should go, that’s what was right, he KNEW this. Both of Bane’s hands were on his hips now, holding him flat, but the grip wasn’t quite so crushing.

“Ah—” Bane sighed. It was soft through the mask, almost like relief, and somehow that made him feel better, like it wasn’t just him that felt like he was burning up into ash.

Blake stared, captivated for a moment by how Bane’s head tilted back, how he could see the arch of his throat now, sweat beading on it. He wanted to lick at him there, to touch all over him, but he knew it was useless. He felt him tightening around him and whimpered at the sudden rising of Bane off of him, the cold; he wanted the hot back. He got it in a moment, Bane sliding back down into him, one, two experimental rises and falls that had Blake gasping each time before he sank back down onto him, his hands sliding up Blake’s stomach, catching on his shirt and rucking it up, exposing his belly while he braced himself. He leaned in, his mask pressed into his ear, cool and sharp.

“Move.” It was hissed out, demanding, nearly urgent.

“Oh, thank fucking God,” he whimpered out, vaguely aware of the soft laugh he got, and reared up from the bed and thrust up into Bane. It took only a moment for them to sync up, a few awkward but still unbearably good thrusts and then they snapped into place perfectly. That, that was exactly what he had heard about, the perfect joining of heat and bliss. It just hadn’t happened in any way that he’d been taught.

He had to sound ridiculous. He had to sound like a fucking whore. Words were pouring out of his mouth, bubbling out in a steady stream of nonsense, and he couldn’t stop them or the long moans and short little yips when Bane pushed down harder, rode him faster. His hips were crushed into the mattress when Bane drove down onto him, and if he lived through this he’d probably have bruises all over his hipbones, but that crushing weight felt so good, made him light up, and when he pulled up he thrust with him, he worked into him as deeply as he could, wishing he could touch. If he could touch, this would be perfect. He wasn’t thinking anymore, he couldn’t think, it felt too good, he felt too hot.

Bane’s cool mask by his ear was a focal point, one of the only things keeping him sane. His brain was trying to shut down, trying to make him into the animal that Bane had accused him of being. He whined, rubbed against that mask, felt metal scraping into him and the rush of cold vapor. Beneath it, though, there were sounds, Bane panting, soft groans, a low growl of hunger—not whimpers, not mewls. There was nothing submissive about it. He was like a tiger that was enjoying devouring its hard-earned meal.

Too soon he felt himself swelling. He tugged at the cuffs, tried to mumble something; it seemed like polite etiquette to at least warn. He nudged up, trying to push his shoulders at Bane, got a warning growl, felt him clench down harder and his blood pounded louder past his ears from that tight squeeze.

“B-Bane.” Talking was hard, his mouth felt like it was swelled with cotton. “G-going to.”

Bane didn’t pause, but he shifted and there was a low, raspy laugh against his neck. “That… was rather the idea, John Blake.”

That wasn’t funny. He shouldn’t have barked out a sharp laugh or have told Bane that he should just call him Blake for God’s sake, but hey, he could blame it on hysteria. It was washed away anyway when Bane shoved down hard on him, forced him into him as deep as he could go.

“Go on.” It was a rough growl of an order, and his body fucking jumped to obey. He arched up off of the bed, screamed when he felt it slamming out of him, felt himself swelling and knotting so deep, pulsing out in hot waves that made the room fade out with each throb. He could feel Bane’s own release on his chest, hot and sticky and only adding to his scent in the room, only making him whimper and rock helplessly, trying to move deeper even though he was knotted deep and pouring out.

He slumped back onto the bed, whimpered at the rough pull of the cuffs and tried to just breathe. His breath heaved out of him while he suffered the delicious, shuddery hot pain of aftershocks, of his knot keeping him deep, making him fill his omega as much as he could before the next round. He whimpered at that thought because there would definitely be a next round, and he wasn’t even sure how he’d survived the first.

He could hear Bane’s breath; it was heavier as it came from the mask. At least it wasn’t just him, fucking hormones, fucking chemicals. He had the vaguest of thoughts about what Bane had said earlier. He didn’t want this, either. Fuck nature. He whimpered when Bane shifted, when he felt himself start to soften a little. It lasted all of ten seconds, just a couple of shifts of Bane’s hips, a couple slides in and out of that wet heat, and he was getting hard again. Fuck. Nature.

Bane rode him through each round until he was dripping out of him, until the blankets under them were possibly even more wrecked than Blake felt. He was begging, begging for more, begging for it to stop, just begging, and Bane didn’t answer; he was either ignoring it or as gone as Blake was at that point. Every time he thought it was done, that he couldn’t take any more, Bane would run his fingers through the trail of come that Bane had left on his belly, held it under his nose until the intoxicating pheromones seized control of his body again and he hardened.

He was being ridden to oblivion, and it was the most wonderful, terrible of aches. He screamed, he cursed, after so much there was wetness on his cheeks, and he wondered if it was sweat or tears or come. He wanted to touch, he wanted to touch Bane so badly, instincts telling him to soothe his omega, to rub his scent on him, mark him as his. Bane rubbed his come into his skin, instead. He was still in his coat, still in his shirt and pants, only his belly exposed, his face, his bared throat, and Bane marked them, rubbed wet fingers onto him until he was coated in his scent.

There was one final climax pulled from him, and he whimpered through every beautifully painful second of it, barely having the energy to knot before he finally passed out, soaked, exhausted, claimed.


	8. Chapter 8

Bane slept more soundly, when there was slept to be had during a heat, due purely to the exhaustion they took from his body. He mostly slept secure in the knowledge that Talia and Barsad were there, one or both of them keeping watch while he regained his senses. Now was not the case, however. His instincts did not fail him as he slowly awoke from his slumber, but they were groggy. He felt sluggish and overheated still. It took him more than a moment to realize he was being woken by trembling fingers against his skin, hands shaking his shoulder, Blake kneeling on the bed beside him, his hot arousal rubbing against the sheets.

“Please, please…” was panted out softly by his shoulder, and his hips rocked slightly against the bed. “Can I? Can I?” It was mumbled out thickly.

It was most impressive that this Blake had managed to undo his cuffs, free himself, especially with the fog of need numbing his brain. He had probably meant to make off after, or, he noted after a moment, perhaps he was too clouded for that ever to be in his thoughts, for Bane realized now that his soaked through clothing had been shucked off and tossed from the bed and he was bare and hot against it. He had clearly worked hard to escape so that he could rut again.

 He rolled to his side to consider him, ignored the soft whine that got and took hold of his chin to study him. Even in the dim light, Bane could see how mussed and smeared Blake looked, how his pupils were blown with desire. He reeked of his scent and of submissiveness, something he did not think any alpha would take on willingly, uncuffed, unrestrained. He was not, as he assumed any alpha would do, trying to force into him. He was begging to be allowed.

“You did not take me in my sleep.”

His eyes focused just slightly and he blinked them owlishly. “F-fuck, of course not, are you crazy? Who would do that?”

Perhaps not so unrestrained, after all.

“You wish me again?” he asked in amusement, and Blake bobbed his head, his eyes eager.

“Fuck, yes, yes, please.” It was quite… interesting. His brother begged, and he had always found it to be one of the loveliest of sounds. He did not think that alphas even had it in them to beg, to submit in the ways that Blake had shown. He wondered if the young man knew that when he had rubbed his come onto his body, scent-marked him like he did Barsad at times, that he had tilted his neck, bared his throat for more.

Bane had learned many things in his travels, of himself, of society, and how culture influenced one’s body, one’s beliefs. How social structures kept one caged, forced them to perceive themselves falsely, to live as they would not in unrestrained environments. The dynamics were just one example of that, how an omega raised to believe he can have no control in his heats acted as such, an alpha taught to be the aggressor does so, and a beta taught they can never experience the depth of connection between the other dynamics will not even try. It was exactly why Gotham, the rotting beacon, drawing all around it into its sour depths, had to fall. Its corruption had seeped into the ground. It had poisoned nearly all things pleasant and virtuous that might have grown there, and its infection would spread out to other, neighboring cities like a virus.

How strange it was indeed to find such a rarity as Blake there, then. How his actions were not those of any alpha that he had witnessed. How, incoherent or not, during their rutting he had squirmed happily under him when he rubbed his belly. How even now, when he tilted his head in his hands, he exposed his throat more to him. It was a very curious thing, indeed. He found himself running a finger along the sticky wet on his neck and considering him. His heat was far from broken, after all, he could feel even now how he was slick with need, could feel his own hunger for Blake and how he knew he had done well to sate him earlier. He had planned to use him through the night when he woke. He glanced at the cuffs, glinting in the low, barely-there moonlight that crept in through the window.

He also thought of how preferable it was when Barsad touched him when he worked through a heat, how they touched one another now, not just Barsad working to soothe but strokes and caresses to one another’s skin, and how such things happened now with no heats at all. Those actions made everything much more pleasurable, made his blood run hotter. He had spilled himself just as well during his taking of Blake, but his brother had shown him things beyond simple instincts, and he found that he wished for them.

“Blake, look at me,” he ordered, pleased when wide brown eyes snapped up to look.

He was not fool enough to simply trust. “If you wish me, lock yourself back up, and I shall take you as YOU need.” He emphasized it, for he had found that his control as an omega was far superior to the control shown by others when they were near him.

His words took more than a moment to sink into Blake’s mind, and then there was conflict there. It did not matter, he would be used either way, but Bane could not say that he would not be disappointed. Blake had surprised him earlier, and Bane had surprised himself with his actions, questioning him as Talia’s mother had once questioned him so very long ago.

A moment or two was granted as Blake clearly struggled, clearly fought the urge to try to touch him, to fight. Finally, his patience was rewarded unexpectedly when Blake finally reached for the cuffs, his fingers shaking as he raised his hands back up to the bedpost. Bane stilled him just before he latched them back into place.

“Stop. You have proven yourself well.” He pulled him up, amused when Blake yelped at the manhandling. He would simply need to get used to it. He moved him aside and lay back, spreading his thighs and watching how Blake’s eyes widened and he sat up on his knees, clearly uncertain if he was being deceived.

“Come along, Blake.” He ran a hand down his thigh and sighed, feeling his heat rising, and Blake clearly could not resist the invitation. He swore and scrambled over the sheets, kneeling between his legs.

“I-I can?”

He could not help feeling almost fond about it. He looked boyishly excited, relieved. When he nodded, Blake fumbled and Bane reached a hand down to guide him. “Calm yourself.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Is it?” Bane narrowed his eyes and Blake looked up at him, ducked his head.

“I-I guess not… y-you, fuck, you just make it seem like it, ok? Christ, how do you even TALK like this?” Blake dropped his head down onto his chest, half exhausted, half worked up judging by how he nuzzled at his chest and groaned.

Bane snorted and let it go. It was clear Blake had a quick tongue that was not reigned in in the slightest, but he learned from his errors for the most part, at least. He took a shuddery breath and Bane felt him nudging against his hole and he growled, urged him on until he was deep again, stretching him blissfully. He could admit it felt quite pleasing this way. He wrapped a hand around the back of Blake’s neck and felt the sweat and short hairs there when he rubbed into it with his thumb, heard the small moans and desperate panting as Blake grabbed onto his shoulder, gripped the sheets with his other hand, as though scared to let his hands roam.

Such a thing did not last long. Blake’s hand finally released its tight grip on the sheet and Bane was surprised how wonderful his touch was, how he teased at different spots on his skin, stroked and scratched over his belly, yet his fingers became feather light each time they traveled over a scar. He would feel insulted over being treated as something so delicate were it not so quaint. He rocked into his thrusts, felt the fullness and weight of him as he worked hard.

It felt different than the last alpha he had reluctantly taken. The man had fucked into him to seek his own pleasure. Blake seemed as though he was trying to work for them both. His hand wrapped around his cock and he jerked into the unexpected thoughtfulness, growled in pleasure as he was worked, as they both became lost in it.

He did not let go fully. He would not without his brother or sister there to guard, but it was more than enough to make his lids lower with pleasure, his hands rub down Blake’s back, scrape into the lovely skin there and feel it give beneath his nails. Blake keened above him and shoved forward. Bane shuddered, felt himself being stretched wider, the primal sense of satisfaction that thrummed under his skin when the knot stretched him and he felt the first few warm splashes filling him.

Blake’s head dropped down and he panted, his fist gripped around him. He seemed frozen beyond gasping each time he pulsed out, and Bane reached to finish himself.

“Nn—Sorry, got it, got it,” Blake promised, and his hand moved again. He thumbed over the tip of him, and between the gentle urging there and the fullness in him, he found himself gripping onto Blake’s shoulders tightly, pressing bruises into the pale skin as his orgasm rushed from him. Blake made a soft noise, like he was pleased that he’d gotten Bane to come with him and he settled down onto him, panted lightly as they waited for the knot to subside, as he felt the warm splashes still filling him. He found himself tousling his hair slightly, then took Blake’s wet hand by the wrist, rubbed his thumb through the mess of it on his palm then rubbed against his throat, satisfied when Blake again tilted for it.

There was a soft click of the door opening, only heard because Barsad wished for it to be. He could barely see his brother’s calm eyes; his body was wrapped in dark clothing and even his rifle had been left behind in favor of a hidden pistol to allow for stealth.

His eyes went from Blake to the cuffs laid out on the bed, and then to Bane’s more exposed positioning on the bed. It was a testament to his brother’s skill and how his heat slowed him that there was a knife pressed to Blake’s throat before Bane could make him pause with a hand signal, only that keeping Blake’s throat from being slit like a swine’s. Blake inhaled quickly, reared back sharply though he could not truly move far. Barsad’s careful hand avoided nicking his skin, but it was not out of courtesy for Blake.

“Brother.” He was examined with cautious eyes, worried eyes.

He shook his head slightly and the knife was tucked away.

“How does it fair, brother?”

“As well as can be expected, perhaps a bit better.” Blake was breathing harshly above him, trying to gather his wits. He pulled him back down to settle him, felt his smaller frame shudder as he sniffed at his skin.

His brother’s hand went to his forehead and suddenly a low growl rumbled from Blake’s throat.

It was cut off by a sharp yip when Barsad cuffed the back of his head sharply.


	9. Chapter 9

Blake shook his head. That wasn’t right. He KNEW this part, at least. He didn’t know, he didn’t understand a single fucking thing that had happened that night, but he KNEW this part. Bane needed to be with him, and there was a beta here that didn’t belong. It made him want to growl again, but his head was smarting from where the tiny, scruffy little asshole had smacked him sharply. He didn’t understand; he knew he wasn’t exactly using all of his brain cells at the moment, but this was something he KNEW, and Bane felt so good and hot and tight around him, and he wasn’t going to let a beta take that, even one that had just put a knife to his throat.

He growled a little again, and this time Bane cuffed his head. He yelped in confusion and gave him a hurt look. Bane’s eyes narrowed and he squirmed uncomfortably when he realized it was with humor, that he was being laughed at.

“Blake.” Bane’s finger’s went to his hair, rubbed against where he’d hit, breaking up sweat-stiffened locks. He was filthy, he had to smell and look terrible at this point, and he had to be absolutely saturated with Bane’s scent. He wondered if it would ever truly wash out of him or if he’d smell him under his skin for however much longer he actually lived. “Do not growl at my brother.”

He wondered dimly if Bane meant biological brother, but realized it was unlikely. He scrunched his face with displeasure and rubbed his cheek against his skin. Bane was so warm, he still smelled so good. “You’re not his.”

“Nor is he yours.” The man, he knew his name, it was on the tip of his tongue… Barsad. He’d been called Barsad. His voice had a gentle lilt to it, but its tone was as sharp as the knife he had held to his throat.  “He belongs to no one.”

“Then I want him.” He scowled then yipped at another cuff. Ow.

“Alphas are very stupid in heat,” Barsad commented.

He managed to glare at him in the dark. “You wouldn’t understand.”

That earned him a cold look. “I understand need well enough, boy.”

He shook his head sharply. He KNEW this. “You’re a beta.”

“I am. I find that, beyond being spared the clearly useful skill of being blitzed out of my mind when I smell heat, this matters very little.”

Uh-uh. It meant EVERYTHING. Blake might dislike his dynamic sometimes, but it meant everything. It shaped who he was, who he was supposed to be. This, everything that had happened tonight was just a testament to how WRONG Bane was, that he could force an alpha to behave like he had. This wasn’t natural. He shook his head a little but it was smarting with the smacks they’d given it so he didn’t argue. Words were really hard anyway, so he gave them up in favor of licking a little at Bane’s chest, moaning softly at his taste.

There was an amused sound. “Can I do anything for you, brother?”

“He should most likely have water or he will pass out soon enough.”

He was fine, he didn’t need some stupid beta’s help, but he guzzled down the glass of water brought anyway. It cleared his head a bit. Bane’s heat scent was still strong, but it was definitely less than what it had been when he had been brought here. God, how long he been here? Everything from outside of this room felt so fuzzy and distant, but he couldn’t have been here for longer than a day. He felt a stirring of annoyance when Barsad sat on the edge of the bed. He didn’t want another smack, though, and so he bit back the growl he felt rising in his throat.

Apparently not well enough, because he could hear Barsad’s amused chuckle. His knot had softened enough to pull out now and he sat back, panting, unable to help looking down at Bane, watching how his chest moved as he breathed heavily, how his thighs were still spread, the muscles. He shuddered when he saw how his come was dripping out of him and he couldn’t resist reaching down, touching there and feeling all of the wet they had made.

Bane’s hand went to his shoulder and gripped firmly. “Blake.” He groaned and felt himself harden again at the commanding tone. “Now.”

It was amazing how easy it was to ignore Barsad after that. He could smell the man’s arousal; the beta scent was confusing when it mixed with theirs, but soon it just mingled with the other scents and he could no longer tell it apart, soon it almost seemed to make it better. He took Bane several more times, and he didn’t remember much of it, just that tight clench, the feeling of being touched all around, and one blissful moment when Bane rolled over for him and he got to rub his lips all along the strangely enthralling scar on his back and rub his hands along his sides and stomach. Bane managed to still be the one soothing him for it, light urgings and commands that he worked hard to heed. He just wanted to feel good; his brain told him how important it was for both of them to feel good.

It all got pretty fuzzy after that, just hot breaths, sweat and come.

____________________

Barsad watched as Blake collapsed down onto Bane’s back, looking limp and spent. He reached out to rest his hand against his brother’s forehead. His temperature was lowering and it was a good sign for him that the heat would soon end. Bane’s arms were shaking lightly when he lowered himself to lie on his stomach. The breath that came through the mask was a faster pant, and he rubbed his arm to help slow it, knowing it would not do for his brother to take in the chemicals too quickly.

“Slowly, brother,” he coaxed softly, knowing such gentleness was only accepted during these times.  His guidance was taken, though, and Bane’s breathing became more even, much faster than Blake’s who was draped on top of him, face red as he gasped for breath even while Barsad suspected he had lost consciousness finally.

“It is nearly broken,” Bane finally spoke softly, in a tired tone that he hid from the world. Barsad lay down beside him and kissed his brow. His scent was still strong, and Barsad was not ashamed to admit that he had experienced some struggle watching his brother while he mated, part of him longing to push Blake aside and work inside of him. Only duty made him keep a steady watch, a hand on his knife as he had sat beside them, taking in their scent for hours. It was a curious thing, to watch them. He had never quite seen an alpha behave as Blake, not that he had seen many alphas during a heat. He had seen videos, what grown man hadn’t? And he had witnessed his brother with only one.

Blake was quite strange, though, quick to work for Bane’s pleasure, baring his throat for him, whimpering when Bane’s fingers slid down the sweat of his back and he urged him on. He perhaps held even something akin to jealousy, quite the unfamiliar feeling, when Bane had rubbed his come against Blake’s cheek, when Blake had mouthed over his fingers with a whine. He dismissed it as foolhardy for many reasons.

“You did well to break it in one night.” Even when Talia was there to help him work with Bane, it usually took the night and a day. Bane made a sound of agreement and Barsad ran his fingers over his scalp. “Are you ready for me to dispose of him?” John Blake had served his purpose well, but even tools ceased to have a use.

He eased him off of Bane, ignoring the soft sound of protest it got and laid him out on his back, slipped his knife out again from his belt. Better for it to be while he was sleeping, head probably filled with heated, pleasant dreams of rutting.

He waited for a nod of Bane’s head, a motion of ascent from his hand.

It was not given.

“He behaved admirably,” he commented, placing his large hand onto Blake’s chest where it slowly rose and fell with his breath.

“Are you being a sentimental fool?” Barsad questioned sharply, unsure if the heat was still on his brother if he was not thinking of the risk of sparing this boy. He got the snap of head he expected for his actions, pleased to see the cloud of heat gone from his eyes then.

“You are too bold with your tongue, brother.”

“Would you rather me prostrate to you? I would make a poor second, indeed.”

Bane’s eyes crinkled into a fond look that warmed his stomach. “And an even poorer friend.”

He warmed further. From his brother, his sister, children of the pit, the title of friend was the dearest he could be given.

Barsad put his hand to his shoulder. “It is heat, or is it something you see in him?”

Bane considered it for a long moment. “It simply feels hasty to end him.”

“Shall we take him with us?”

Bane snorted then and stood slowly, testing the strength in his limbs. “And do what with him?”

“He growled. I have a bit of rope for a leash and collar…”

That earned a low laugh. “Leave him. He will not speak of what happened tonight, and if he did, who would believe an officer of the law now?”

He nodded and helped his brother wash. He kept a close eye on Blake who did not stir as he checked the mask’s medication, goaded his brother into drinking some water, and traveled home with him. There was much to be done still, and after a short rest Bane would help establish the new court while Barsad traveled to see their sister, check on how she fared.

____________________

He was sticky and sore when he sat up suddenly in the morning, grimacing as light flooded his eyes, and he had to peel himself off of the ruined sheets. His head finally felt clear for the first time since he’d entered the little apartment, and he rubbed his face, feeling the grime flaking off of him.

Probably the most amazing thing about it was that he woke up at all.

He looked around cautiously, but the apartment was empty. He managed to stumble out of the bed, cursing how his calves were cramping and pained from dehydration. The shower was freezing, but he tumbled into it anyway, sat on the bottom of the tub and tilted his head back, opening his mouth and drinking down mouthfuls of the cool water that drizzled into it.

When the events of the night started to trickle into his brain, his heart started racing. Bane. He’d met Bane and lived. He’d FUCKED Bane and lived. He knew more about Bane than anyone in the resistance did, now. He knew he was an omega.

And there was no way in fucking hell he was telling anyone.

He found a sliver of soap and scrubbed his skin, rubbed it into his hair and felt come and sweat sluicing off of his body. They’d want to know how. They’d demand to know how he knew, and he would never, NEVER tell anyone what had happened that night. How he’d lost his mind, how he’d begged and submitted and touched Bane, how his aching and raw dick twitched even now when he caught the slightest whiff of pheromones still in the air.

He could still smell him on his skin.

He pulled his ruined clothes on and did possibly the most treasonous walk of shame home that he’d ever done, thanked God that Gordon wasn’t in the apartment, and tried to clean up more, tried to wash away his guilt.

He could still fucking smell him on his skin.


	10. Chapter 10

He scrubbed out his coat. Soaked it with whatever cleaner he could find. He couldn’t exactly afford to throw it away. Winter was coming, and who knew what would be available when the weather got cold and people got desperate.

Gordon didn’t come back that night, and he was both worried and grateful. He wasn’t angry at him anymore. What right did he have to yell at Gordon? He’d betrayed everything he stood for, too. He kept to himself. He jury rigged a way to get messages down to the other officers, and he tried to figure out a way to get food to the kids and some for himself, maybe, too.

He was trying to avoid people in general. People were showing their true colors now with social order collapsing around them. Dynamic status was always a touchy subject, but it was no secret that, affirmative action or not, alphas still had a stronger tendency to be given jobs as leaders, CEOs, the big money makers. It was just how it worked out. They were more aggressive, more assertive. They made more sense to hire for those positions.

It made more sense for omegas, who were naturally more nurturing, domestic, to take on jobs like teaching, cooking, childcare. Betas tended to be able to better focus on their jobs without having to worry about the strong ties that came with bonding, and were often skilled laborers. Now that those structures were toppling, there were a lot of alphas on the streets being hunted down and killed for their past decadence.  Being an alpha hadn’t exactly given him fame and fortune, but that would be easy to overlook for a group of angry betas or omegas who felt wronged even if they didn’t know he was a cop.

It took a couple weeks of lying low, but Gordon contacted him. They met up and shared a look of apology with one another and nothing was said about it. Gordon told him he wanted him on his side, that he’d been working to get as many officers together as he could. Gordon looked tired but determined. He still looked like a damn leader, and Blake knew that any officer left was going to back him, dynamics be damned. Blake was going to stay by his side, too. They talked in an alleyway, tucked behind a dumpster where no one would look. Gordon refused to let anyone see where he was staying, refused to go into people’s homes, not because he didn’t trust, but because he was worried others would get taken in and hurt for knowing.

There would be snow in a month or so. Right now he felt the chill in the air even with his sweater. He told Gordon about contact with the officers underground, talked about strategy while he huffed warm air onto his chilled fingers.

“Son, haven’t you got a coat?” Gordon suddenly noticed and looked concerned.

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to wear it.

“Yeah, I just… kinda forget it.” He gave him a fake smile and rubbed his hand behind his head sheepishly. Look at him, just a dumb kid who forgot his jacket, nothing to see here.

“Blake, is everything ok? Well, as ok as it can be right about now?”

Honestly, there was a reason Gordon was the commissioner. He assured him as best as he could that he was as good as could be expected, that he was eating alright. Gordon touched his shoulder lightly before he left; it was a surprisingly thoughtful gesture of comfort, and it made Blake feel even more guilty. He had a job at least, now, though, something to do instead of wait around, something to focus on. Gordon wanted him to find a good vantage point so the officers could overlook the city and that’s exactly what he was going to do.

He’d been looking all day. It was harder than it sounded. He knew Gotham well, really well, but it wasn’t like he kept a record in his head of what buildings would be best to spy out of. Even if he did, every building he slipped into was a potential minefield; Bane’s army, desperate citizens, even just wreckage were all possible dangers.

Wayne Enterprises had kind of been a last-ditch effort. Nothing else he’d run into that day had suited them well. It was freezing. He’d finally broken down and taken his coat out of the closet that morning. He’d shuddered when he’d slipped his arms into it. He could smell him; fuck, he could still smell faint traces of Barsad on it, too. He wasn’t sure he’d stopped smelling either of them, and he’d barely resisted burying his face into his jacket and taking a deep huff of the faint scent. He wasn’t going to reduce himself to that kind of shame, though. That night… it was something he was going to forget and put behind him. As far as he was concerned, it hadn’t fucking happened at all. No alpha acted like that, no omega claimed like that, and no beta fearlessly sat beside them while they did it.

The ground doors were blocked off from the inside. It wasn’t the first time that had happened today, though. He’d slipped past more than one blockade only to find it abandoned, so he wasn’t going to give up so easily on this one. Fire escapes really did make life easier sometimes. He scaled it and slipped into the second floor.

And got walloped in the back of the head by a beam of wood.

The throbbing in his head brought him back to life quite painfully. He groaned and braced his skull to stop it. It was chilly and he could hear someone close by, talking to him.

When he forced his eyes open, he saw he was inside of the building still, now in the middle of what looked like it had once been a huge office. Lucius Fox, Blake recognized him vaguely from when he had been doing research on Bruce, the company, trying to figure out his whereabouts.

“I’m terribly sorry about that.” Lucius looked down at him, his tone friendly but wary at the same time, like he wanted to trust Blake, but didn’t know enough about him yet to do it. “You spooked one of the board members when he saw you crawling in through the fire escape.”

“Sorry.” He brushed his fingers carefully over the swollen bump on his head. “I was just…” He looked around. They were alone, and from what he had researched, Bruce had put a lot of trust into this man. “I’m a detective; I was looking for a vantage point for the police.”

Lucius paused in surprised at that, and then he smiled warmly at him. “Well now, isn’t that interesting? I’m sure we’d be happy to help with that.”

He was shown their operation. It was small, and in the middle of a large open hall barrels burned, filled with paperwork that meant nothing now to keep those around them warm. They were barely feeding themselves, the lesser known faces going out and securing food for others.

“As you can see, we don’t have much, but what we do have is a view,” Lucius told him. “And we are more than happy to share it with you, detective.”

Lucius introduced him to the men who kept an eye on the blockades that were set up. They agreed to let him in through a carefully set up entrance the next time they saw him.

“There’s something I think you should know, detective,” Lucius finally said softly to him when they were in a less crowded area. “Something we haven’t been spreading around because we didn’t want to cause a panic, but the police, they need to know. Come with me.”

He was lead to another office, this one with a smaller fire burning and a woman crouched down beside it.  Her hands and face were sooty from tending it and the small bit of food she was cooking by it, but she was still striking. Sharp brown eyes fixed onto his and she stood, wiped her hands onto a cloth.

“Who’s this?”

“Miss Tate, this is Detective Blake. We’re going to be using him as a liaison with the police.”

“Are you certain that is wise?” Her eyes narrowed at him, but she reached her hand out and shook his in a tight grip. His nose told him beta, which he’d always relied on before he met Bane, but fuck if her posturing didn’t scream alpha. He supposed that if she was part of this business world beforehand that she would have had to learn that sort of posturing, the aggression that would get her noticed and listened to.

“We can’t do this alone, Miss Tate. I think we can trust him.”

“Perhaps.” She let go of his hand. “If that is what you have decided.”

They really were all going to die. He’d had the feeling in his gut the second it was rocked by explosions and ashes rained down around him. He just knew the expiration date, now. Five months, less than.

“You can understand why we haven’t told anybody. The amount of panic that could cause, bad panic…”

He nodded numbly. “Yeah, yeah you’re right.” He was trying not to panic now. It was one thing to have the bomb hanging over their heads, it was another to know the exact day. “Gordon needs to know, though. I’ll contact him, tell him.”

Miss Tate focused on him. “You know where he is? I would like to help. I feel responsible for this.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t your fault, you can’t blame yourself.” Really, what were the odds of something like this happening? She’d been trying to change the world, and someone had used the project to try and destroy it.

“I would like to help,” she insisted.

“If I think of some way you can help, I’ll let you know,” he promised.

____________________

He looked up, surprised from his work as he watched the slender form, face covered in a thick scarf, slip in through the window. They had moved from the tunnels. The dankness of their temporary base was gratefully left behind as they moved headquarters into an abandoned apartment complex. This was their private dwelling, and there was only one who would dare to slip into it without fear.

Barsad stood quickly from his post by the door, nodded his greeting to their sister, but she went straight to him instead of her usual greeting to their brother.

“Talia… You should not be here.” Bane was more than pleased to see her, though, felt his heart lighten as she came to him and he unwrapped her scarf, cupped a hand to her cheek. Her eyes were narrowed in anger,however; it rolled off of her in waves as she worked off the heavy cloak that hid her form.

“What has happened in my absence?”

He furrowed his brow in confusion, touched her shoulder. “Nothing; everything goes according to our plans.”

Her hand went to his mask, fingertips rubbed over the grate of it, and it was strange, confusing, the amount of concern that shone in her eyes. “Not our plans. You. I smelled you today, on an alpha.” She hissed the words out in disdain. “I will slit his throat for you. I only did not yet because he is needed to flush out Gordon.”

“Talia.” His squeezed her shoulders lightly and drew her closer. “Do you think another claimed me without my permission? It was… necessary.”

Her fingers paused and she looked at him, studied him, her face calming back into her smooth mask, but it was touching that he could see the quiet relief in her eyes. “You chose him.”

He rumbled lightly in amusement. “You saw him? Do you think he could have overtaken me?”

Barsad walked over to join them. “Bane handled him as though he was a pup, sister. It was needed to break the heat quickly.”

The stiffness went from her shoulders, and she laid her head against his chest. “I… I did not know what to think. I smelled your heat scent on him; I have never felt such anger in me before,” she admitted, as though it surprised her to feel it, and he was touched further by it.

“You risked your cover to come here for this?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “You are becoming sentimental.”

She shoved at his arm, her eyes narrowing in annoyance at the tease. “I would never let an alpha try to claim you.”

“Nor I, sister,” Barsad assured. His hand touched her back lightly. “It was handled. He lives because he was respectful.”

“He should not,” she argued. “He is a detective, what if he has spoken of you?”

“None would believe him,” he reassured her and she relaxed finally.

“He could prove useful, still, if there is another cycle before the end,” Barsad pointed out, and Bane paused at that. He had not considered the idea. His heats were sporadic enough that it was not implausible for another to strike. It would be convenient to take Blake through his heat again to quicken it.

Talia seemed to consider this carefully and turned to Barsad. “It was truly as you say?”

“He whimpered for Bane, begged to be claimed; his every gesture an act of submission.” Barsad promised, smirking slightly. “It was quite a show, sister. I have never seen something quite like it.”

“Spend the night. I will tell you of it, if you truly wish. Return to your post in the morning.”

She nodded her ascent, and he gathered her into his lap, sat with her on their bedding—it was impractical for him not to share it with Barsad at this point—beside the small woodstove they used for heat. Barsad joined them, and it was a good moment. He warmed her hands as Barsad spoke, laughing, of what he had witnessed. Bane told of Blake’s submission, his determination to not merely behave like an animal.

She finally seemed reassured that all was well, and she, too, began to joke with them before they moved on to other discussions. How they could use Blake to keep tabs on the police, to find Gordon if he proved to be too much trouble, how she missed them though she did not say it outright, such a thing was not her way. When she fell asleep with her head against his chest, he stroked her hair, unsure of if he would receive the chance to perform the act again. Barsad seemed to understand, stayed close; Bane guided his head against him and kept a hand on his side.

He had thought about Blake several times since their encounter. It was a strange thing, since he rarely thought of others beyond Talia and Barsad. Those men in his ranks that he remembered by name were few and far between, those truly worthy of such a thing. John Blake was intriguing, though, and he wondered how he fared in a city turned against him. There was certainly fire in him; did that mean he would rise?

He was certainly clever if he had found Talia’s location. She had stationed herself there to learn all she could of Lucius, to see if he was able to work out a way to stop the device. They could certainly simply kill him, but there were others who worked under him, other scientists, and they could not determine who might be a threat to their plans. For now it certainly was not preferable, as they wished her with them, but it was needed that she focus her guard on the people holed away in Wayne Enterprises, to watch those there and be certain no one was able to devise a way to shut down the reactor.

Beyond his cleverness, though, he thought of Blake’s body, a phenomenon he had not experienced outside of heats beyond his thoughts about his brother, ones that were entirely his brother’s fault for teaching him the pleasures of flesh that could be had outside of a cycle. He had not known, had not even considered the possibility of the things Barsad had happily shown him. He had been curious, entertained, the first time he had seen Barsad pleasuring himself, had not minded giving his hand to it, but he had become almost a student, with Barsad as a willing teacher, and now he knew the pleasures the flesh could bring.

He wondered if perhaps another heat before the end would be such a terrible thing.

Barsad’s head was dipping down slightly. The man had worked himself weary once more. He ran a finger across the shell of his ear and heard his sleepy grunt, felt him burrow in closer.

“Yes, brother?”

“If there is another heat…”

Barsad made an amused sound and looked up at him with drowsy eyes. “I will track him.”


	11. Chapter 11

Blake woke feeling flushed, his cock rigid against his stomach. It put him into a foul mood even as he reached down to take hold of himself.

There was no heat in his apartment anymore. That meant going to bed every night with every blanket he’d been able to barter for piled on top of his little bed while he slept layered up, wrapped up tight in his coat. It was the coat that was the problem. While he slept, that faded scent still reached his nose as he was cocooned in it.

He’d woken up each night from dreams, memories of how tight Bane had been around him, how good he’d felt to fuck into. It was frustrating as hell, and he couldn’t get it out of his head. He worked his cock, reached both hands and worked himself, thinking about being on his back, being ridden, being pinned down. He bit his lip as his orgasm rushed out of him, and he panted out from the pleasure of it even while he felt guilty and frustrated as fuck.

What the fuck was wrong with him? This was the man he was trying to stop. This was a killer. This was an evil man, and yet he spent all of his days trying to foil his plans and his nights dreaming about fucking him. It was just that fucking heat. It was because he’d never experienced an omega in heat, that was all. Now his brain wouldn’t let it go. It wasn’t any omega that would do it for him now, though. It was like Bane had imprinted on him, had taken what was supposed to be a beautiful joining and tainted it, made it so his body couldn’t accept how it was supposed to naturally be, with him on top, him soothing, the omega on their knees, sweet and submitting.

He’d tried everything he could to get him out of his mind. Fuck, he’d even gone to another omega, or tried to. Occupation meant heat suppressants weren’t getting supplied. It was a lot easier to supply contraceptives for when the act occurred than it was for them to be able to supply omegas with a daily pill. It meant a lot of omegas were suddenly cycling and were looking for someone to ease them, just as some relief; even betas had to worry about their more rare cycles hitting them. For some of them, it was even worse since, between rare heats and suppressants, most had never had to worry about having a cycle before.

He mostly tried not to think about it until one of the few officers above ground had approached him, looking skittish about asking, and Blake could smell the beginnings of heat on him. It had smelled good, amazing in fact, but it didn’t smell like his coat. It didn’t smell like Bane, and when he’d touched the other man he’d tilted his neck for him, whined softly.

It felt wrong.

He’d awkwardly apologized and high-tailed it out of there. He’d felt terrible about it, but the guy had found someone else and had understood, had been surprised he could even turn him down with his scent. It had actually earned him the respect of the other omega officers who had become increasingly wary about being in the presence of any alpha without their suppressants.

Fuck if he was going to explain that he’d learned how to control himself around them from Bane.

He hated him. He hated him so much, hated everything he was doing to the city, everything he had done to him, that he had managed to make his own body seem like it was something that wasn’t even his own anymore.

He cleaned up, like he cleaned up every morning now, and went out to do what he could. He sent messages, filched gasoline to barter with, and sent some to the orphanage just in case. He went to Wayne Enterprises and watched from the skies for hours. It was boring work, most people there avoided him. Miss Tate often came to talk to him, though, and that helped pass the time. She seemed curious about the orphanage, asked him about it and how he helped them. She didn’t say much about it, but he could sense her approval, and it sort of felt good. It made him feel like he wasn’t a complete fuck-up, anyway.

“Why do you feel it is important to take care of them, Blake?” she asked, watching out the window with him. They were watching the trucks pass, the patrols, making notes of their common rotations and paths. “There is a priest there, is there not?”

“That’s one person. One person for a whole group of kids that need all of the help they can get. Besides, he’s a good man, but he doesn’t understand them. He hasn’t been where they are now.”

“And you have?”

He paused, glanced over at her. They’d been talking freely and he hadn’t really meant to admit that much. He didn’t talk about this kind of stuff with anyone, but Ms. Tate had a way of pulling things out of him, apparently. She made him feel like it was ok to talk to her. “I… I grew up there. You can’t know, you can’t know what growing up like that is like unless you’ve been there.”

“How did it happen? That you ended up there?”

He flicked his gaze over to her. “That—”

Her hand touched lightly onto his. “You do not have to share, but I would like to know.” Her eyes watched him sharply, with sympathy but not pity, and somehow that was better. He knew she wouldn’t try to dote on him after hearing, that she wouldn’t offer platitudes that meant nothing, that only made the person speaking them feel better.

“My mother, it was an accident, I don’t remember it, but my dad, he was shot in front of me over a debt.” He didn’t look at her, said it quick to get it out. He’d only ever said it to Wayne before.

She made a noise of understanding, but didn’t offer her pity. “You have risen well above your past, then, Blake; you are a good man.”

It struck him as one of the most sincere compliments he’d ever received.

A lot of his time watching was being spent trying to locate Bane’s second in command. He’d seen him on the television when the power was actually working. He hadn’t noticed him, really, for Bane’s first speech, but now he saw him quietly in the background for every single one—Barsad. He couldn’t help but wonder now if he was the triggerman. It made sense. Bane trusted him, trusted him enough to know his secret and to take care of him or something during it. The details of that night were hazy from how his blood had been on fire, but he could recall that. He remembered seeing the kiss to Bane’s forehead. He had been too tired to react then, but the intimacy he had seen was very telling. If Gordon was wrong and he had given the trigger to someone else, maybe it was Barsad.

Gordon didn’t think there was a trigger man. Blake disagreed. It was one of the few things they couldn’t see eye to eye on, and Blake was secretly worried that if they pursued Bane too aggressively they’d be sky high before they got anywhere.

Barsad, though… Well, he’d been especially keeping an eye out for him for a while. He was barely seeing him on the patrols, though, just a glimpse through binoculars every now and then. He wondered how often he was at Bane’s side, if that’s where he spent most of his time or if he maybe drove one of the tumblers. If he could figure out that he was the triggerman, well, he’d have someone specific for the police to focus on. They could take him out then they could try to take out Bane without worrying about the bomb detonating.

It was a plan with a lot of ‘ifs’ and ‘maybes,’ and he was on his own for it because no one agreed with him about the trigger, but it was something to do. There wasn’t a whole lot to do in occupied Gotham, anyway. It was mostly a waiting game. He couldn’t figure out an exact route for Barsad because he showed up too infrequently on patrols. He’d just have to wait and try and bump into him and try not get killed.

Like he did sometime that next week.

The bumping, not the killing.

But that almost happened, too.

The walk to Wayne Enterprises was getting chilly. It wasn’t snowing heavy yet, but it’d be there soon. He tugged his coat around himself tighter, fighting the urge to recoil at the light scent it held. Fuck it, it was cold, and he was tired of bullshit. He glanced up in surprise as a tumbler rumbled past him, followed by one of the three armed trucks.

That wasn’t right. This wasn’t the right time or the right road; they were changing routes. Why?

It was probably a bad idea to follow it, but he kept a safe distance. They’d been watching those trucks for weeks, and they hadn’t shifted once. He needed to know why the sudden change and where they were going. He kept a block or so behind them. It’s not like it was hard to trail behind, they weren’t going fast, but they sure weren’t going slow, either. He cut through a couple of alleyways to stay on track with them.

It was because he was so focused on the trucks that he didn’t notice the group of men following him.

He was slammed against a brick wall. There weren’t words exchanged. This wasn’t some school yard bullying. He didn’t even have time to recognize them, though he was pretty sure they had to have known he was a cop. He had heard of it happening, gangs swooping in and taking one out with ruthless efficiency. This was an execution, and the only reason he didn’t have a bullet in his brain was because they didn’t want it to be that quick.

Well, his expiration date had clearly ended up being shorter than five months. He grabbed onto the nearest body he could find, fingers grasping into thick cloth as he shoved forward, putting his weight into it, and found himself rolling on the ground with the figure he’d grabbed, getting kicked, punched. He slammed his knee into the form under him as hard as he could, feeling bones cracking under it, ribs breaking.

If he was going down, he was going to leave his mark. He heard the man scream and felt the pain of kicks landing on his back, his kidneys. He went for the ankles of the next closest man, though, slammed a fist into his crotch and felt satisfied when he dropped like a stone. Who gave a fuck about fair fighting when you were going to die? He grunted when someone slammed a boot into his head and he felt a wave of dizziness, was knocked back onto the cold sidewalk.

He felt a gun muzzle pressing cold against the side of his head, and was a little satisfied that they decided he was too dangerous to take their time with, after all. The handle was slamming into his temple, making pain explode in his head. He could feel blood trickling out of the gash it created, leaking hot and sticky across his forehead, into his eyes as he instinctively tried to curl in on himself, felt the kicks and blows landing on his sides.

The world was dimming, and the first shot fired was muffled. It took him more than a moment to realize it hadn’t been at him, and that he wasn’t dead. They were rapid then, one shot after another, but not in a steady stream like someone firing uselessly. Each one seemed to be purposeful, and he felt bodies dropping down onto the ground all around him, one landed on top of him and he felt sick when he saw a face half blown away, a skull splintered open and hot gore and brain matter leaked onto him.

He waited for his turn, but it didn’t come, so he closed his eyes and rested a little instead.


	12. Chapter 12

Barsad tucked his Beretta away, watching as Talia crouched down and snapped the neck of a still-twitching thug. She backed away from the scene when he rolled a body off of Blake, but he shook his head.

“He is unconscious.”

“And yet still manages to be trouble,” Talia mused softly and reached down to touch Blake’s head where the blood matted into his hair. They had been meeting in private, a rarity, but Talia had wanted to change the schedules and streets for their device, and it was important for them to be discussed in detail. She had come along with him, face covered, of course, so that she could approve of the new path and perhaps, Barsad wondered but did not dare hope, slip off to spend the evening with them.

They had not expected to come upon Blake about to meet a brutal demise. They had watched curiously for a moment; Blake was somewhat admirable in his fight or flight instincts, and Barsad could respect a man who chose to go down with a fight. Talia signaled him then, and he put a bullet into the backs of each of the attackers.

“What should I do with him?” He checked Blake’s vitals. He was probably concussed and would be in for quite a lot of pain when he woke up, but nothing looked broken or life ending. He was already coming to, a sign that there would be no permanent brain damage.

“Take him home,” Talia whispered softly, already retreating back. He nodded a farewell and was amused at the groggy mumble of complaint he received when he braced Blake over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

“Come along, troublemaker,” he sighed and walked slowly. He had discovered where Blake lived easily with Talia’s help. They had been keeping tabs on him because of his close proximity to Gordon and in case he proved to be useful one way or another. Today, Talia had spoken of him quietly, and he had been surprised her tone was one of rare approval. It took much to gain her attentions. He wondered if Blake was perhaps even more than whatever had caused Bane to spare him on the night of his heat, if he was perhaps even a brother simply met too late in their plans. If he had been found earlier, had been taken in earlier, would he have risen in the flames with them?

Before, he would have thought Blake’s dynamic would be a hindrance, now, though, he did not think it would be such a problem when he had seen the desire to follow and be led, to please, deep in Blake’s eyes.

The lock was broken. No surprise there. Every lock was broken now. Everyone was on equal standing now. He laid Blake out on his bed and felt the chill in the room. He wondered how Blake was not sick from it yet. Most people were now sheltered together, huddled close for warmth or adept enough to create fire pits. It struck him suddenly how alone Blake must be to still be in this apartment by himself.

Talia had spoken of the boy’s past, and it did not seem like his present held much more for him than emptiness and a sense of duty. He watched as he shifted around more, tried to fold up in on himself but groaned in pain. He was barely coherent, but he was a mess of blood at the moment, most of it not belonging to himself.

He worked open the buttons and zippers of Blake’s coat, surprised when his fingers suddenly grabbed onto his wrist and made a disagreeing noise when he worked it off of him.

“It’s dirty, Blake. It needs a good wash, at least; I’m fairly certain it has brain on it,” he spoke coaxingly, worked weakened fingers from his wrists and worked the coat off, tossing it into the corner.

Blake finally seemed to realize he wasn’t alone. “S’you,” he slurred out, eyes squinting in irritation.

“It is,” he agreed easily enough and pulled a cloth from his pocket, pouring some water from his canteen and using it to dab away the blood from Blake’s temple. It didn’t look terrible, it didn’t even seem like it would need stitches.

“Been looking for you, fucker.”

He made a noise of amusement. “Have you, now?” Interesting.

Blake was mumbling to himself, sounding irritated as Barsad dug around the small apartment, coming up finally with a first aid kit. He was clearly disoriented, but he caught the word ‘triggerman’ and was amused. If Blake thought he was the triggerman, he was not so far off but still incorrect; clever, though. He carefully bandaged his head and ignored the annoyed mumbling and weak shoving as he stripped him down to his boxers and checked his ribs, the bruises around his kidneys.

“S’not a fucking free show.”

He chuckled. “I have already seen it, Blake, and I have seen better.”

Blake groaned when he finally let him go, muttering something about it being “the best damn show” he could ever hope for, then curled in on himself, shivering. He should be warm if he was injured, the cold would make everything hurt more and take longer to heal, stiffen his joints. He ghosted a hand down Blake’s chilled skin and saw how he shifted his body into it, making a tired sound.

He stripped off his vest and shirt, keeping his gun tucked away safely. Blake would be quite little use to them with hypothermia. He slipped into the bed behind him and pressed to his bare back, pulling blankets over them and lending Blake his own warmth. He was surprised when Blake groaned, turned around and burrowed against his chest, huffing. Perhaps he had sustained a greater head injury than he’d thought.

“Jesus Christ, holy shit, you’re a fucking furnace. How are you so WARM?”

Surely it was wrong to laugh at an injured man, but in some cases it could not be helped.

“Sleep, Blake.”

“Want my coat,” he mumbled, and Barsad’s stomach dipped down when icy fingers pressed against it to warm them.

“You’re warmer now against bare skin than you would be with it.”

“I WANT it, smells good.”

“It certainly does not smell good now.”

“Always does,” Blake muttered sleepily, and Barsad made the connection then back to the night where Bane had owned this young man, where his coat had probably soaked in their scents. He wondered if Blake thought of it often, if he grew hard whenever he caught that scent, or if he felt even lonelier from it.

He wrapped an arm around him, feeling a strange wave of possessiveness in him that he himself could not explain. Instincts were tricky things, and his told him that this boy was Bane’s now, dynamics made no difference there. Not killing him was show enough of that after their joining. Bane would never let an alpha claim him, but he had certainly claimed the boy for his own just as he had made Barsad his many years ago. It made them brothers in a way, it made them connected, as well, and it made Blake his responsibility to look after, not merely for their mission.

He pressed close and licked a slow stripe at the hollow behind his ear, feeling Blake shudder slightly. It felt right to put a bit of his own claim on Blake, to press some of his own scent onto him. They were both Bane’s, after all. “Go to sleep, Blake.”

“D-Don’t fucking lick my ear.”

He laughed huskily against said ear and gave it another lick for good measure, feeling the shuddering intake of breath trembling up through Blake’s frame. “You are Bane’s, aren’t you? It means he would merely like it if I claimed you, too. I know my brother well.” What Bane laid claim to he always shared with him, and he knew in his heart that this was no different.

“He didn’t, he’s an omega and you’re just a fucking beta,” Blake mumbled, and he sounded tired, tired from more than his injuries, tired of life, of fighting and of loneliness, perhaps.

He chose not to let his words ruffle him; he was far too used to such things. “And you are an alpha who longs to sleep with the scent of the omega who owned you wrapped around you for comfort.”  He tugged lightly on his ear, instead, and pulled him closer, whispered lightly in his ear. “Can you not smell him on me? He has claimed me, as well, little brother.” He guided his head to his neck where he knew his brother’s hand most often fell, and his thumb would rub into. His skin tickled as Blake breathed deeply there. He could feel his body relax in his arms and gave his back a pat when he was asleep against him in moments.

“I left him when he seemed warm enough that he would feel better enough upon waking,” He explained to his brother. He’d also left him his shirt, watched as Blake breathed in his scent and held it in his sleep. “He seems to be a rather lonely young man.”

“This city breeds lonely souls,” Bane remarked, but Barsad could tell he was curious about it. “He should not be alone in the cold.”

“Talia said she would work to persuade him to move to the orphanage. He is too stubborn to do it himself, I am sure, but you know her ways.” He smiled slightly. Their sister could coax the mountains into parting for her, and if she could not, she would simply carve her own path through them.

“Then I am certain he will move there soon enough,” Bane agreed. He glanced around the court; their own quiet conversation never had even the slightest risk of being heard over the din of the crowd shouting out for blood. Truth be told, it gave him a bit of a headache. This was not his area of strength. He preferred the quiet of leading a small group under Bane’s orders, of watching the ground from above with his rifle. This was, at best, a loosely-organized chaos.

Bane studied him as he looped a strand of red yarn through his fingers. “Go rest.”

He watched his brother’s clever fingers at work and thought to protest, but thought better of it. “He did keep me up most of the night,” he admitted.

That earned a raised eyebrow of amusement. He chuckled and shouldered his rifle. “Not as you are assuming. I did not seduce him.”

“He would be far from the first you have successfully lured into your bed.”

He held back a prideful smirk, but he knew it could be seen in his eyes still. If they had been alone, Bane would have likely cuffed him for it. “If he whined for me as he did you, I could see the temptation, but no, he woke several times and felt the need to bicker.”

_He ran his fingers carefully through Blake’s hair, probing around his wound lightly to check it. Blake held still admirably, only flinching slightly when his fingers came close to the gash. He was still pressed up tightly to him, amusingly greedy for his warmth. He wondered how long it had been since he had not felt cold. “You do not have to stay here, you realize? You could come home with me. Bane would care for you. You must be very lonely here, indeed.” He knew Bane would, Bane took good care of his things._

_Blake stiffened at that, pulled his head away from his touch, but did not move from the heat of his body. “Yeah, take care of me until he blows us all to pieces.”_

_He knew Blake knew the truth of the device’s slowly winding down clock, though that did not matter. Bane would still take care of him until the end, who could ask for more? All things died, every life ended, and it was better to end for a just cause. He tilted Blake’s head up, looking into his eyes thoughtfully. “Have you never had a cause you were willing to die for?”_

_Blake stared up at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He clearly distrusted all of his actions now, but was too cold, too sore, too in need of comfort to pull back. “Yeah, but not one I was willing to kill other people, fucking INNOCENT people for.”_

_“You are young, still. We do this for a greater good, Blake. It is hard for you to see things from our perspective. We have seen the rot of the world—”_

_“You think I don’t fucking know how bad things can be here?” he argued. “I grew up here.”_

_“Then how can you not understand that it must be cleansed to allow new growth?”_

_Blake shook his head, and then winced at the pain it brought. Barsad rubbed back against his scalp. “Stop being foolish and hold still.”_

_“I’m not fucking stupid,” Blake muttered, but his eyes closed and his shoulders relaxed._

_“I said foolish,” he corrected mildly. “You will not come with me, then?”_

_“No fucking way. I don’t—” he shivered and whispered. “No one owns me. I’m a fucking alpha.” His eyes would not meet him, though, and Barsad felt a measure of sympathy for him._

_“We are more than genetics.”_

_“I know THAT.”_

_“You do not behave like you do. You want to be owned.”_

_For sore and sleep weary, Blake was able to shove at him and swear rather roughly. He wrapped around him tightly, not enough to press on his bruised bones and ribs, but enough to pin him down to the bed firmly, lie out on top of him and keep him from swinging out. He watched the anger at the accusation, the guilt, and the sparks in his eyes._

_“I do NOT want to be owned,” he hissed out, squirming a bit more, but the fight was leaving him quickly from expending his energy._

_“Oh, we both know that that is not quite true, little one.” He pressed a kiss to his ear, felt the shudder there, part rage, part uncertainty, as he whispered against it. “You know Bane will have another heat sooner or later. He will call for you.”_

_He felt Blake freeze under him._

_“And you will go, won’t you?” He pressed a light kiss to his neck, heard the surprised breath it drew. “I will come to you, bring his scent with me, and you will not be able to resist his call. You will long to be inside of him again, ridden until you scream.”_

_“F-fuck you.”_

_“It would be more convincing, perhaps, if I could not feel your erection against my thigh.”_

_“Why me?” It was a whisper, and he nearly felt sympathy at the traces of fear in it. His brother’s presence could indeed be overwhelming to those that tried to fight the fire he brought. If Blake was to survive, he would simply have to endure the heat._

_He tilted his head and pressed in to capture Blake’s lips for a kiss, something he had not taken for some time. He found that Blake’s smooth lips slotted nicely against his own as he flicked his tongue over them, listening to the uncertain breathing under him. “Because it is clear, Blake, that you are very special, indeed,” he told him with a soft whisper against his mouth, placing another kiss there before settling back. “Now rest more.”_

“I did perhaps steal a kiss from him, brother,” he admitted, eyes filled with mischief.


	13. Chapter 13

Bane chuckled, and if they were not in the courts he would have ran his thumb along his brother’s lips. “I would expect no less of you. How did he taste?”

“Like confusion, naivety, and bad coffee,” Barsad replied before he left the courts. Bane watched for a time more. It was not something that particularly held his interest, but he recognized the importance in him being seen there. Theatricality, image, the fear he built in people merely by being a presence in the court meant that they were less likely to revolt.

He worked the yarn in his fingers as he watched the proceedings. Exile or death, it was something that Crane thought gave him a bit of wit. The man had snapped long ago, though. It did not matter much; he had been allowed to rule the courtroom simply because in the grand scheme of things it mattered quite little.

He found his fingers harder to work, however, as his mind drifted to the earlier conversation. He wondered how his brother would look pressed in tightly to Blake. It would be a very sensual image, indeed, their lips together, Barsad cupping Blake’s chin and coaxing him to open his mouth so he could taste. He knew that Barsad would be more than happy to guide Blake that way, and perhaps he would tell him he wished to see it. If he could not have it himself, he would be content to see Barsad have it for him.

He felt a slight warmness in his stomach at the thought. He had never once considered the possibility of a heat to be thrilling. Even before, when he knew he was safe with Talia and Barsad, he still thought of them as something to work through and be done with. He knew Talia did not prefer the carnal pleasures, considered them impractical, but would ease him however she could. He did not like to make her feel put upon, though she never treated him as beneath her for them. She had always treated him as her equal, and the pheromones that he gave off during heat ensured she enjoyed herself at the time well enough.  When the heat had come and she was old enough to be with him, she insisted, told him she would come to him when it was too thick for him to deny her offer, so he might as well accept it and lie with her then.

His brother, though, had shown him the pleasure of such acts without the heat. He found that, while his body wanted nothing more than to rut during a heat, and Barsad was always wonderful throughout it, it was when he was coherent and outside of them  that he preferred the coupling he had with his brother far more. It felt more intimate, perhaps, to know they were choosing to touch one another, that they were fulfilling a desire not born of instinct, and it was desire. Perhaps it was more, but it was foolish to put names on such things beyond the strength of bond and loyalty he felt between them.

He mused that perhaps he would not be sorry for another heat simply because it would bring Blake into his bed again when he had high doubts such a possibility would occur otherwise. He knew from what news his sister brought that Blake was still full of naïve virtues, and that he tried to thwart him daily. For one so guarded, though, he had grown to trust Talia, to bond with her. He was fortunate she seemed to feel the same for him in her own manner. He did not miss that when she had written her last letter to him, she had referred to him as “our Blake.”

Once a city was toppled there was surprisingly little to do in it beyond show his face, keep the ranks in order among his closest men. They took care of the outer army, and he had little to do with them. Perhaps he would join Barsad in his rest, or perhaps Barsad was not nearly so tired and they would spend some time exploring one another’s bodies once more.

 

It came only a month later, much closer together than most of his heats; he had not had one so close since his time in the pit where life was a constant source of stress. In the pit, his heats were every month or two. Once he was taken from it, they were less, perhaps one in four or six months. Occupation seemed to wear his body down, though, even with its boredom, and he recognized the signs when he felt them, the constant hot pressure in his gut.

Barsad had been cleaning his rifle in silence, sneaking glances at him. He could see the stiffness in his pants but he said nothing until Bane nodded.

“Go and find him, then.”

Barsad nodded, serious and respectful until he could perhaps see and understand that for once Bane did not mind own cycle heat; then he smiled playfully.

“Give me your scent, brother?”

He nodded his permission and Barsad went to him, pressed up against his chest and nuzzled into his neck, moaning softly as he rubbed up against him. His own body was quick to heat up from his beginning cycle and he pulled him closer, wrapped him up perhaps greedily in his arms and ground his hardness against his thigh until Barsad slipped from his grasp. He made a low growl of annoyance, narrowing his eyes for a moment before his mind cleared and he shook his head, stroking a thumb across Barsad’s cheek.

“Return quickly.”

“Of course. Please, eat something first,” he bade him before he slipped from their room. Theirs was the only one on this floor, and with suppressants unavailable, omega scent was much more common now. None would come to seek out the scent.

____________________

Blake gave Karen a little smile as she readjusted her doll in his lap; it was the smile he only seemed to be able to give to the kids, to the ones he knew needed it. Karen was a good kid, a little easy to wind up, but sweet. She’d dragged him over to the corner of the crowded building and demanded he play dolls with her. He’d gotten a look or two of concern from some of the other adults—alphas didn’t play dolls with little girls—but for the most part they were ignored.

He’d been there a few weeks now, sticking mostly with the kids, trying not to be too noticeable. He didn’t want anyone but the kids really thinking about his face too much, that could be bad, but Ms. Tate had been right. He was going to freeze to death in his own apartment soon, and he couldn’t imagine locking himself up in Wayne tower with her.  As much as he’d come to like her, there were frankly way too many alphas in there beyond Ms. Tate and Fox; the whole upper level of Wayne Enterprises was full of them, and he had seen more than one stupid pissing contest that he wanted no part of.

Beyond that, he needed to be able to check on the kids, to be on the streets. He still did lookouts with her, but that was only a small part of his day. The kids knew him, liked him, and they were street smart enough not to rat out that he was a police officer. The Father was a kind man, had put a cot in his own room for him to sleep in, hadn’t even thought twice about bunking up with him even though he was an omega. He had simply bluntly told him that if he cycled, he’d have to move his cot in with the kids for a few days. He wasn’t used to being around so many people constantly, but he’d had to move. That’s what he kept reminding himself. It was too cold to be out and alone.

He was going to ignore the thought that maybe he’d only agreed because now his bed smelled like Barsad and he was trying as hard as he could to keep them both out of his mind. He didn’t understand why Barsad had spent that night with him, warming him, holding him when he was freezing and aching everywhere, a fucking mess of bruising. Yeah, betas could be affectionate, but Barsad had no reason to be like that to him, had had no reason to lick behind his ears, mark him with his scent, brush his fingers through his hair and kiss his forehead before he left as he lay in bed, still half dreaming. He couldn’t understand him, he couldn’t understand them, and when he’d moved, he had made himself leave behind the shirt Barsad had left even though he’d held it half of that morning, smelling Barsad and Bane’s scents mingled together in it. He wasn’t going to drag something like that to his new place of residence.

He wasn’t going to drag his gun there, either. There was just too much risk there, bringing a gun into a place full of nervous kids who wanted to feel like they could help. Too many visions of one running off to play vigilante ran through his head. When he’d handed that gun over to a fellow, very grateful, officer, he’d felt like a burden had been lifted from him. Whenever he’d touched that gun all he could think about was the lives he’d snuffed out with it. Their surprised faces when death hit them. It had been self-defense, just self-defense; he kept telling himself that, that people were doing a lot worse now for a lot less, but he’d taken out two lives, and the guilt was wearing on him. All of the guilt of everything that had happened since Bane came to Gotham was wearing on him.

Karen tugged at his shirt sleeve impatiently, and he snapped out of his thoughts and went back to playing for a few moments until nose twitched when he caught up a scent, glanced around the room. He noted a couple of tense eyes on him. One of the women over on the cot area, she was curled in on herself and sweating, the start of her heat cycle beginning to fill the room. He was the only unbonded alpha in here, and suddenly people were scared of what he’d do to the woman. That pissed him off a bit, but he bit it back, walked over to the woman, Debra, he was pretty sure her name was. She was fiery as hell, he liked her.

“Hey, Deb, how about you go lay down in the Father’s room for a little while, ok? You don’t look so good.”

She glanced around at the kids in the room, a couple looking at her curiously, and gave him a grateful look. “Yeah, I am feeling a little sick, thanks, Blake.”

When she wobbled a little on her legs he helped her to the room, onto his cot. Her scent was getting him hot, but he could handle it just fine. He checked to see if there was someone she wanted to soothe her through it and got flipped off.

“I take care of myself just fine.”

He had to laugh a little at that, sat by her side on the cot for a minute. “You sure? I just… I thought all omegas kinda needed someone then.”

She scoffed. “Please, I’ve gone through heats on my own before. All of that stuff you learn in health class is mostly bullshit, and really degrading to omegas. We don’t need your cock to survive, Blake, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Hey, hey!” he snorted and shoved her arm lightly. “I wasn’t saying that, I just thought—”

“It’s you alphas that can barely keep your hands off of us, Blake.” She looked more serious for a moment. “Most of you can’t… You’re different, aren’t you?” She gave him a slight smile and he felt uncomfortable about it. He wasn’t that different. He just knew what was right and wrong. He left her with some water and food and told her he’d have someone check in on her later.


	14. Chapter 14

People seemed surprised when he came back out of the room, like they expected him to stay with Debra for her heat, presumptuous assholes. It made him remember why he liked being alone. Even though it was getting dark, he decided he definitely could use some air. He told Karen he’d finish playing dolls with her later and he left. It was freezing, but at least he’d finally gotten hold of another coat. He didn’t think it was wise to walk around in a bloodstained one while he lived there, not in front of the kids. It was good to get a new one, anyway, this one only smelled like him and old smoke from whoever had owned it last.

There wasn’t exactly much to do in the dark, and it wasn’t safe to go far at night. Streetlights had become a luxury and smog blocked out most of the stars. When it got dark, it got really dark. He stayed close to the building, leaned against the corner of it and breathed in the crisp air, ignoring the din of the people still gathered inside as they got ready for bed, tucked children in. One of the few good things out of this was a lot of people seeking shelter in the home were getting attached to the children there, were giving them attention because there wasn’t exactly a whole lot to do beyond get to know one another. With any luck, if they lived through this, some of them would get taken in, or at least have a lasting connection.

He caught a whiff of a heat cycle in the air, and it was familiar enough that it had to be Debra’s. He reminded himself to make sure the window to her room wasn’t cracked. It wasn’t a good idea to tempt fate like that, and whether he wanted her or not, his body was happy to remind him that he hadn’t had any sort of privacy since he moved there and that it would be so very happy to sink into something tight and wet. He wondered if he could possibly get some alone time later just to take care of his personal business, because by now his cock was swelling quite firmly, pressing tight enough against the crotch of his pants that he was going to chafe sooner or later.

It was hard to resist taking a few light sniffs at the air; he was only human after all. He glanced back up at the dimly lit room on the second floor, where he knew Debra was set up.

The window was closed up tight.

He was struck by the realization of just why that cycle smelled so familiar and how terribly mistaken he had been when he heard the soft smack of booted feet hitting pavement. Barsad dropped down from a fire escape with ease, greeting him with a nod.

“There you are hiding.”

“How, how the FUCK did you know where I was?” He stared, clenching his hands up into fists. NO. He’d been doing so fucking well, he’d gotten them both out of his head, and now he was back and fuck, he smelled good. He knew exactly why he smelled so good, too. Bane. Bane had to be in heat again, and his whole body suddenly flared up with excitement at the thought. Barsad was there to take him to Bane.

“You are not so hard to track. I found where you lived before, did I not?” Barsad looked amused and slipped closer to him. He wasn’t armed, well, no, he was fucking armed, but his gun was away, his knife still at his belt. He simply looked inviting, put a warm, light hand onto his shoulder, and smelled so good, mingled scents hitting his nose, heat, comfort, need; he had obviously rubbed Bane’s rich scent all over himself before he came to see him, and it was making Blake’s head spin. “Come along, Blake. It’s time.”

He shook his head quickly. “Get the fuck out of here.” He wanted to shout, but the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to what was going on. “I’m not fucking going anywhere with you.” Blake wondered if he would threaten him or lead him off by gunpoint. The truth was there were other ways that were easier and so much more embarrassing. Barsad clicked his tongue slightly in disapproval and stepped in close to him, bracketed his arms around him until he was pressed against the wall with Barsad pressing up close to him. The brick digging into his back was easy to ignore with Barsad’s warmth and scent rolling off of his compact frame and straight to his nose. He had to tilt his head up to meet his eyes and yet somehow he looked no less intimidating for it. He didn’t force, he merely waited, watched intently as Blake squirmed against the concrete and finally brought his hands up to grab fistfuls of Barsad’s vest to shove him away.

He whined softly in protest then buried his nose in Barsad’s coat instead, breathed deeply. Fuck, he’d forgotten exactly how perfect their scent was, that was the damning thing. It wasn’t just Bane, though that was intoxicating as fuck, somehow it was the two of them mingled, and it made no sense at all that it should smell that amazing. It was like their scents belonged together.  He gritted his teeth at the soft laughter he got, jumping when Barsad’s fingers sifted through his hair.

“Good boy, Blake.” It had to be teasing, mocking, but his chest felt strangely tight from it, anyway. “Come on, let’s go.”

He shook his head a little, making a noise of disagreement even while he couldn’t stop rubbing his face against Barsad’s jacket, knowing he’d absolutely fucking lost this game, already, but unable to just go along with it quite yet.

Blake was surprised when Barsad didn’t tug him along anyway, just patted the back of his head. “Alright, we will wait until you are ready, but Bane is waiting for you, Blake, waiting to make you his again.”

He shuddered, his fingers still holding onto Barsad’s vest roughly as his stomach clenched and his dick ached. He thought about Bane, open and wet, how he would probably push him down and take whatever he wanted from Blake, how if he whimpered for him he would stroke his heavy, thick hands all along his body, pet him, let him know he was doing good.

His lips parted with a soft pant and Barsad ran a thumb across his cheek. “Ready?”

He closed his eyes tightly and nodded, let Barsad slide an arm around his waist securely and guide him off.

____________________

Blake was quite endearing, the way he could not seem to resist pressing his face into his jacket and huffing on occasion as they walked. There was some soft, clearly annoyed muttering about how good he smelled. He mostly ignored it and led Blake along, watching the streets carefully. Few would ever think to attack him, but there was no reason to be foolish simply because Blake was being entertaining.

It was a long walk and Blake stayed close during it. He felt a cold nose against his neck more than once, and he seemed to be more interested in sniffing his skin instead of his clothes. He wondered at that.

“Did you miss me, as well? I was not aware I smelled so good to an alpha.”

“It’s… it’s you together,” Blake muffled out against his skin. “It’s better together.”

That was a curious piece of information. He ran his fingers through his hair. It was a bit dirty, and Blake looked a little thinner than when he’d last seen him. Talia had mentioned it, as well, and there was no doubt he was passing off his rations to the little ones he was trying to keep safe in the orphanage. He pulled a small package of dried apricots and thrust it into Blake’s hands.

“Eat; you’ll need your strength.”

He received no rebuttal. Blake looked hungry as he shoved the fruit into his mouth and swallowed down some water from Barsad’s canteen. He looked a little perkier, and a little uncertain with the burst of energy food and fresh water brought. It was nothing a light hand around his waist did not fix. Blake wanted to be led at this point, and he only faltered once they were at the fire escape leading to their rooms. He jumped when Barsad gave his smooth cheek a light press of his lips.

“For courage.”

Blake narrowed his eyes. “I’m not scared.”

“Then you are a fool.”

He swore under his breath at that, but they were to the window soon enough. Bane’s scent hit them both when they climbed into the room. He felt himself swooning from it and knew that for Blake it must strong enough to nearly make him pass out. Already the young man was tugging at his coat. Barsad commended him for thinking to unbutton it before they’d gone through the window so he could actually get it off this time. Clearly he’d learned from experience.

Bane was sitting on their low bed, something they had gathered after being in the same building for so long. His breathing was a slow steady pace, his eyes closed and his legs crossed in a quiet meditative state that Barsad knew he went into when his heat threatened to cloud his mind. He lifted his head calmly when he heard them, his eyes landing firmly on Blake. He brought his hand up and with one smooth gesture motioned for him to come to the bed. It was probably a small kindness for Blake, whose eyes were looking glossy already, to simply give him an easy order to obey.

Barsad went to the door to leave them to their business and to take care of his own that was pressing insistently against his pants.

“Why are you leaving?” Bane asked, and Barsad halted his footsteps, slightly confused at the entertained tone to his brother’s voice. Perhaps his heat was affecting him more than he had thought.

“Brother?” he questioned softly, glancing over and seeing how Blake was already on the bed. Bane had cupped his chin, thumb digging into his cheek, making Blake open his mouth and pant softly.

His brother took his eyes from Blake, giving him a steady look. “Come to bed, Barsad. I have spent time wondering what it might be like to see you share a kiss.”

How could one ever resist such an order?


	15. Chapter 15

He dropped down onto the bed beside Blake, laughed at the little annoyed growl he got, and reached to tug at his ear. Blake’s face twisted with annoyance.

“I do not smell so good when you are with Bane?” He supposed that the thickness of Bane’s scent put Blake’s instincts on edge, made him feel threatened by another’s presence. He was doing well to react more mildly than before. He seemed to be doing better overall, clearly overwhelmed, clearly in need, but not as incoherent as the first time he had been swept away in Bane’s heat. It was commendable.

He dipped in closer, feeling warm breath puff out nervously against his lips, smelling of apricots, still. When he kissed over Blake’s lips, he felt him shift uncomfortably on the bed, his mind and body warring. When he made a sound of complaint finally, Barsad bit into the soft plush of his bottom lip in reprimand. The sudden wanting moan he received was a pleasant vibration against his own lips.

He could hear how his brother’s breathing quickened through the mask. He was enjoying watching this. Barsad understood; he only wished he could let him have it, as well, but since he could not… He licked at the beginning swell of a bruise he had bitten onto Blake’s lips, coaxed them into parting with quick teasing dips of his tongue. Blake made an unsure sound, Bane’s hand resting lightly on the small of his back persuading him into giving into this game and he opened his mouth for him, for both of them, truly.

He played with Blake’s tongue, tasted him thoroughly and encouraged him to do the same, knowing it would please Bane and that it more than pleased himself. It was hard for him not to grow fond of something that captured his brother and sister’s interest. He kissed across Blake’s jaw, pressed his teeth there, bit lightly at the corner of it and laved over the red mark with his tongue. Blake’s breath hitched as he licked down to his throat, swiped his tongue across his Adam’s apple and placed a wet kiss there.

____________________

Blake was trying to think; Barsad’s mouth, though, his fucking mouth, all of Bane’s scent in the air, the feeling of just his hand resting on his back, it was making things really, really hard to think about. Like the fact that he shouldn’t be kissing Barsad. It didn’t make any sense at all, not when Bane was there and Bane was in heat and he should be thinking about coaxing him onto his hands and knees. Not that he thought THAT would be happening, either; more likely he’d be on his back again and his cock should not be throbbing in want at that.

This kissing Barsad business, though, it really didn’t have any place here. His scent was just so confusing right now, and every so often he felt a bit of a growl in his throat and he could barely keep the word “MINE” off of his tongue, even knowing what sort of painful disaster that was sure to bring. His instinct absolutely fucking hated that a beta was here in this room with him, touching him, while there was an omega in need.

It, well, he’d never been kissed like this, though. He’d thought more than once about the light little kiss Barsad had given him before when he’d been in a world of pain from a beating, and how alike these were, but while that one had been tender, these had passion and excitement mixed with them. They were enticing, and they made his skin heat up even more, made his body jolt with excitement when Barsad bathed his neck with little licks, kisses, his tongue licking over his pulse point and marking it with his spit and scent. The nip to his jaw made him bite his own sore lip sharply.

Bites were used to make a claim, scenting. Barsad was putting Blake carefully and gently into his place, letting him know through his actions that he was to obey him, obey them, really, because he might not be running on all of his brain cells at the moment, but he’d figured out that Bane and Barsad were more than just comrades. If Barsad was claiming him with his mouth, he was doing it because Bane couldn’t. An alpha being claimed not only by an omega but by his beta, too… his heart was pounding in his chest and his hands clenched up into fists. It felt wrong. He felt guilty, fucking ashamed, when his body relaxed for it, when he tilted his head back of his own volition, when he whimpered softly in pleasure at another bite, that they could do this to him

Barsad helped him work his shirt off. He glared when he tickled over his ribs and made him giggle. He was losing enough dignity as it was. His fingers felt good after that, and they pressed into his chest. He thumbed over a nipple then scraped his nail over it roughly enough to make him grunt and then gasp when he ran wet lips over it in apology. God, he felt so good just from this. His hips rocked up off of the bed and he made a pathetic noise that drew a low raspy chuckle from Bane. Fuck, he hated how whiney he sounded.

Bane’s hand drew a slow stroke down his back, patted him with enough force to make him push into Barsad a bit. “Lie down for me, Blake.”

Blake nodded his head and let out a shuddery breath as he obeyed. Heat or not, having done this before or not… Bane was still scary as fuck, and he knew how dangerous this still was. He was going to be fucking good for him. He laid himself out onto the sheets for Bane to take and tried to remind his body just how unnatural it was for it to be so damn excited about the idea.

It didn’t help much, he sighed and melted into the bed when Bane’s hand squeezed his throat lightly, making his breathing shaky. That was totally not the appropriate reaction there. He should be pissing himself at that, but his thumb was rubbing his jaw over the damp bite marks Barsad had left, and when Blake snuck a glance up into those strange gray-blue eyes, he looked so pleased with him that Blake felt himself shiver happily; again, not the right reaction.

Bane’s eyes crinkled lightly and it took Blake a moment to realize that he was smiling. It was a strange realization, to think that a man like Bane could smile, smile while he skimmed his fingers down his belly, pressed his thumbs against his hips. God, his hips had been nothing but one big bruise after the first time, and he sure this time would be no different. He choked when Bane’s hand didn’t rescue him from the awful confines of his pants but instead his heated palm pressed against him there. He felt himself twitch with need, his hips buck. He was worried he’d get in trouble, but no reprimand came, only a chuckle from Barsad, jerk.

Bane’s hand pressed and he couldn’t help reaching up to grab his wrist. “F-fuck, fuck.” He didn’t think about how dumb it was to grab Bane’s wrist until after Bane’s hand grabbed onto his own wrist in a bone-crushing grip, his eyes harsher with anger, almost distant, like he was momentarily lost in a bad memory. Blake let go quickly, babbled out an apology. “I wasn’t, I wasn’t trying to order you,” he promised. “You were going to make me fucking knot my PANTS,” he admitted in embarrassment. Embarrassment was better than death, and Bane looked amused once more. Blake was relieved; he hadn’t seen that sort of anger in him before, not on the TV, not when he’d given his speeches. It was something different.

Barsad tugged lightly at his hair. “You are not a very smart one when you smell heat,” he commented mildly, breaking the sudden tension further. “But you are rather cute for it.”

“Asshole,” he muttered, and Barsad tugged his hair again, making him wince.

“Could you even get yourself out of your pants right now if you tried?” Barsad teased.

“Of course.”

Challenge failed.

He tried to pull the entire button off of his jeans in frustration. Barsad finally relented and opened them for him, which was weird. Barsad really could leave anytime, unless maybe he wanted to kiss him some more.

Again, with thoughts that really shouldn’t be running through his mind at the moment.

Not when Bane was finally touching his cock. Fuck. He dug his fingers into the sheets. Don’t grab Bane’s hands, he told himself. He didn’t want to get a broken wrist, especially not now when he’d probably just beg to be able to have Bane even while someone was setting the bone, sort of like he was now. He tried to bite back, but it poured out while Bane touched over him with an agonizing exploratory slowness. Soft repeated ‘pleases’ gasped out that made a low chuckle rumble out of Bane’s chest.

Why wouldn’t he just ride him into the mattress like before? His fingers were torture, nimbly touching down over the tip of him, rubbing together, slippery from his precome eagerly leaking out. Wetted, they ran down the length of him and to his root, slowly along his balls before they were cupped lightly. Probably the last person in the world you wanted handling your balls was Bane, and hazy or not his body tightened up anxiously.

That stopped quickly, though, when he was let go, when Bane stripped his clothes off and Blake stared again. He’d seen it, but it was still mesmerizing. His hands went up and when he wasn’t stopped he traced them lightly over scars across the mass of Bane’s shoulders, his chest. There were so many, and he felt the urge to lick them, to press a kiss against each one, but he couldn’t reach and Bane hadn’t told him he could get up.

He sucked in a shaky breath when Bane finally straddled him, pressing him against his wet opening and sinking down onto him with a low growl. Perfect. Fucking perfect. He grit his teeth and barely held back from losing it right away. That would have been so embarrassing, and he didn’t want to yet. He wanted to move, to thrust, but he knew that was asking for trouble. He wanted Bane to crush him down onto the bed and smother him in his scent again, wanted those bruises on his hips and the aches that came with them, and those wants seemed much more likely.

He keened when Bane gripped down on him. Oh fuck. He was going to lose it or do something stupid. Bane wasn’t moving yet and he wiggled under him, swore when Bane finally started to rock onto him, fucking himself exactly how he wanted with Blake’s cock, a rumble leaving his chest. Pleasure rocked through Blake, made him feel like he was suffocating from the hot bliss flooding his nerves.

He was going to do something really fucking stupid any minute now.

He surprised himself by how stupid when he reached up, grabbed for Barsad’s shoulders and pulled him down, fingers scrabbling over the smooth skin of his back before he dug his nail in and kissed him desperately. He needed something to think about, something to keep all of those wanton noises from escaping him so he didn’t sound like a needy little whore. It only helped a little, those noises muffled out anyway between their lips, but Barsad seemed to delight in them, pet his cheek and kissed him until he was near breathless as Bane took and took.

Barsad cupped his cheek, swallowed up his scream when he came, when he couldn’t resist driving his hips up in a desperate attempt to knot as deeply in Bane’s tight heat as he could. Bane didn’t reprimand, his own eyes were lidded with pleasure and he could hear a light shushing of assurance against his ear when he couldn’t stop whimpering as he felt himself coming so hard it ached, filling Bane up.

Over the blood rushing through his ears, he could hear the slick noise of skin on skin. Barsad was stroking over Bane’s cock as it was swollen and hot, dripping down onto Blake’s stomach. He should be doing that. He needed to make sure Bane felt good, too.

He reached. “I can, I can do it,” he promised even as he tried to regain his senses. Barsad guided his hand so it gripped with him.

“We can do it together.”

What a fucking ridiculous idea. But Bane, his eyes were closed now, and he wasn’t sure he’d actually seen Bane willingly close his eyes. That took a measure of trust, almost a vulnerability, and it was mesmerizing. It was only happening because Barsad was there, and Blake’s instincts rebelled a little at that idea, still. Why should Bane trust him? Why should he fucking trust Bane? Neither of them should trust each other, but Christ, he looked amazing when he groaned out, his head and shoulders dipped down and he finally shuddered, the faintest of tremors running through the solid muscles of his arms as he spilled out between their hands, come dripping onto Blake’s stomach in thick splashes, marking him as his once more.


	16. Chapter 16

There was silence as they recovered, as Bane shifted and settled into a better angle for them until he unswelled and they could start again. He narrowed his eyes, couldn’t really believe how jealous he felt when Barsad pressed a kiss to Bane’s neck and Bane’s head shifted. It wasn’t in submission, but a show of trust, and why was it making him so ANGRY? He glared, bit his tongue so he didn’t growl; oh, he wanted to growl, though. Barsad shouldn’t be here are all. He was making all of his instincts rile up even worse.

Barsad glanced down at him. “So much fire in your eyes, little one.”

He shoved at the hand that touched down on his arm. “I’m not fucking LITTLE, don’t you touch me.”

Barsad merely looked entertained, jerk. He hated him. He hated him more than anything else in the WORLD right now. This stupid beta where he didn’t belong, touching HIS omega. It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter how much he logically knew Bane wasn’t truly HIS. GOD, he hated him. He finally couldn’t keep back the low growl in his throat even knowing that it would probably end in pain. He had to defend what was his, didn’t he? Defend from this beta who didn’t understand this at all, who didn’t know his place at ALL, and it was infuriating.

He waited for Bane to grab his throat, his wrist, something. It didn’t come, but he was looked at sharply. He tried to stop, to convey that he was doing this for Bane, obviously. Barsad didn’t need to be here. He was doing a good job and Barsad needed to LEAVE. Barsad touched Bane’s shoulder lightly and pressed his lips to his mask, where his ear would be and spoke lowly. Even if it was in English, which he suspected it wasn’t, it would have been too low for him to be able to hear. He didn’t like the curious tilt of Bane’s head, though, the nod. They were talking about him, and he felt jealousy twist further in his stomach. Part of him knew this was all from Bane’s stupid heat, but that didn’t make it feel any less real.

“Very well.”

“Very well wh—” He stopped and grunted as Bane rolled them carefully, settled on his back on the bed. His knot shifted slightly, drawing a groan out of both of them. He startled when he felt Barsad’s hand on his back, rubbing into the sweat slick skin there.

“It seems to me like you would feel much more at ease with me if I put you into your place,” he commented lightly, and Blake really, REALLY didn’t like the sound of that. He yelped in shock when he felt the sharp sting of Barsad’s hand smack over his ass, FUCKER. He growled and tried to pull back, then whimpered when it tugged on his knot. Right. He was going to kill Barsad AFTER that. The more coherent parts of his brain were calmly informing him just how dumb of a thought it was that he could ever put a dent on the crafty little bastard that made Bane’s right hand man, but oh God, he wanted to tear into him right now.

He could sense movement behind him and squirmed, settling when Bane put a hand onto his back, guided his head to his chest. Blake calmed and nuzzled at his chest, groaning and licking at it. Barsad was much more easily forgotten when he was tasting the salt and musk on Bane’s skin.

“He’s not going to like this, I assume,” Bane commented mildly. His voice sounded thicker, relaxed as his need relaxed with Blake knotted tightly into him.

“Oh, I imagine he’ll put up quite a bit of fuss, at first,” Barsad agreed.

He didn’t quite understand, not until he felt Bane’s hands on his ass, digging into the muscle there, spreading him apart, not until he heard the soft snick of a cap, not until the sudden cold wet trickled down along his hole; that and realization made him clench in shock.

“Relax, Blake.” It was a command and no, no, there was a lot he would try to obey for Bane, but he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do THAT. He shook his head, finally having softened enough to try to slide out of Bane’s ass. Bane’s fingers curled tightly into his hair, forced him to stay against his chest, and he tried to buck away.

“S-stop.” He started to protest when Bane’s finger’s dipped down between them, gathered up his own come on his hand.

“You will submit to me, Blake.” It was so certain sounding. He held his fingers under his nose and, even knowing it’d probably doom him, Blake couldn’t resist licking at them a little, feeling a quick jolt of fresh arousal race down his spine.

“You, you… just you.” He nearly sobbed out in desperation. His hips started rocking forward, wanting to just fuck and forget Barsad was behind him and wanting something no alpha would ever give. Barsad’s firm hand on the small his back kept him from moving far. He tilted his neck, felt the approval from Bane when he rubbed his wet scent against the corner of his jaw, right over the bites Barsad had made, and his whole body shuddered in response to that backwards claim.

“Barsad is mine, Blake. Submitting yourself to him is submitting yourself to me.”

Then why shouldn’t Barsad submit to HIM? He wanted to ask, but asking was putting it out there just how much Blake was Bane’s, and he didn’t need to hear that out loud. He already felt it in his head too much. It was one thing to submit, it was another to feel like he was owned completely.

There was a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. “It feels like a struggle inside of yourself, doesn’t it, Blake?”

He bobbed his head nervously, waiting tensely for Barsad to try to push into him, but it wasn’t happening. It nearly surprised him, but then he remembered that Bane always waited for him to submit before he took what he wanted, that Barsad hadn’t dragged him here by gunpoint, he’d merely waited. Why would this be any different?

“It is merely instinct that is making you behave like this, Blake. You will enjoy it if you relax,” Barsad promised. “You are not the first alpha I’ve bedded and shown such a thing. We all have the same pleasure zones there, Blake; it will feel good for you to be taken if you can relax for it.”

His brain caught at that. “You’ve done this… with ALPHAS?”

Barsad laughed softly and rubbed his thumb in a soothing circle against his back. “I have, once. He was curious and found it to be rather enjoyable.”

His mind was reeling at the very idea. What alpha would willingly do this just because they were curious? Barsad didn’t really seem like the type to bother lying, though, and a part of him loosened at the thought that he wasn’t the only one fucked up enough to even consider it, because he was. His insides felt like they were being torn up with indecision. His instincts didn’t even know what they wanted anymore; obedience to Bane?; to own Bane?; to rip into Barsad? They were all mangled up and confusing and God his head just hurt at this point. If this settled down all of that roaring noise in his head then he’d take it no matter how strange it felt.

“Ok, ok, just… just do it,” he muttered and tensed, braced himself to feel Barsad rut into him. Again, it didn’t happen, though. Barsad merely draped himself across his back, nuzzled his neck. The heat from both of their bodies closing in on him should have been suffocating, but it was enveloping instead. When he tilted his neck for Barsad, he got an approving kiss against it, the lightest press of teeth and some of the tension in him broke up while their scents were wrapped up in each other and filling his lungs.

“We will wait until you are really ready again, Blake.” He sounding so patient; it wasn’t fair that he could sound that patient with Bane’s cycle filling the air, fucking betas.

Bane was less patient for him to relax. He thrust thick, come-coated fingers into Blake’s mouth. He startled at first, and then the bitter, pheromone-laced flavor on his tongue made his mouth water, made him suck at them needily, and his whole body loosened when Bane moaned, let him suck contently.

Graceful fingers stroked across his hole. He was dry, but they were wet, and when they made him feel good, made sensitive nerves light up in pleasure, proving all of his instincts wrong. He felt small, embarrassed. A tiny part of his brain curled up in pure humiliation as the rest of his body twitched with need, heating up.  Confusing pleasure pooled in his belly and sizzled across his nerves when Barsad pressed fingers into him that were skilled, that knew just where to touch anyone inside. When they crooked in him just so, they made him sob out in shock and bliss, showed him just how little his dynamic mattered when his body gave in and started to rock back at them. He could feel them opening him up, knowing they were just getting him ready.

Barsad murmured soft encouragements against his ear. Bane rubbed down over his arms, let him mouth and lick and nip at his chest as much as he wanted. He was being good, and his rocking was letting him rut slowly into Bane’s slickness, making him want to fuck into it faster, but he was told he had to wait just a little more before he could move like that again, which was upsetting; he wanted to MOVE.

He took a deep, shuddery breath when Barsad coaxed him into it, then he could feel the tip of him pressing against his opening. He jerked, and when Bane’s fingers laced with his he gripped them as tightly as he could. Barsad was pressing in, slower, so much slower than the way Bane greedily slid onto his cock. It burned and he was stretching open, wider; it was hot inside and rubbed strangely. This wasn’t natural, it wasn’t what alphas did. Then why did it feel good? He whimpered in confusion.

“Fuck, FUCK,” he grit out and bit into Bane’s chest. How did Omegas fucking DO this? He felt sticky and wet from lube, full and hot just from Barsad breaching his body with the head of his cock. He couldn’t believe it actually fit. He had just kind of thought omegas were different, but Barsad wasn’t stopping and it burned but it didn’t hurt. All of his nerves were fizzing and sparking, and he made a choked off sound of surprise when he felt Barsad’s hips press flush against him.  

A low moan vibrated against his ear. “You feel very good inside, Blake; very good.”

“S-so glad you think so,” he couldn’t help but shoot back then cry out when Barsad gave a slow twist of his hips, made his cock rub up tight against him inside. He was so full and surrounded, and when Bane rocked his hips, when Barsad started to pump into him, he felt like he couldn’t move. He stared up helplessly at Bane, watching those sharp eyes study him in return as his mouth dropped open, as pleasure wracked through his body and his brain forgot everything it had been struggling with just moments ago.

“Mine, Blake.” Possessive fingers traced over his open lips. Bane’s visage swam in his vision, but he could hear that rough, claiming tone just fine. “Mine.”

He mouthed at those fingers, tasted everything Bane was, and came apart for both of them, screamed when Barsad’s hands dug tightly onto his hips and he could feel that strange swelling inside of himself, opening him up more, locking them together. He trembled when he felt heat pouring into him, heat pouring out of him and into Bane, heat splashing against his stomach and marking him. Barsad was panting with him, licking wetly across his cheek and Blake felt boneless, like he couldn’t move. He knew it would only last for as long as he was in Bane, though; the heat would demand more soon enough.

It did, and when Barsad finally unknotted, left him feeling strange and empty and wet inside, he rutted happily into Bane. It didn’t feel so bad, now, to have Barsad beside them, to get kisses from him and watch as he moved between them to lick at Bane’s cock. He wasn’t bubbling full of anger anymore, and maybe it was because he was full of Barsad now, his scent deep inside of him and part of him just like Bane’s felt like it had become the moment he’d rubbed it into his skin the first time he’d taken him, just like Bane was doing now, until his throat was wet and sticky with it again. He bared his throat and whined needily whenever those rough, callused fingers slid wetly over him, making a humming noise of contentment whenever Barsad would slide up from sucking on Bane to lick him there, graze his teeth against his neck and jaw.

He whined a little sadly when Barsad told him to take a break after several rounds. He got a hair tousle, though, a kiss on the forehead, and that made it feel a little better. Barsad had neatly shown his body exactly who was on top, and it didn’t made sense because Barsad was a beta and no fucking textbook had ever mentioned anything like this, but he felt ok with him now, he didn’t feel like he wanted to rip his throat out. He felt like he wanted to show his own to him, instead, to roll out onto his belly like he felt for Bane. So he did, sighing when his back hit the cooler bedding and his wet stomach got a pat from both of them. That felt good, too. He was hard when he watched them, pressing up hot against his thigh.

Barsad touched Bane everywhere, reverent, firm, but utterly working to please him with his mouth and hands. He stared when he licked his tongue over the grate of Bane’s mask fearlessly, scraped nails over scars with more force than Blake would have dared. He made a soft sound of want when he saw Barsad guide Bane from his back to his stomach, taking him slowly. He was given an amused look and a pat on the shoulder.

“Your turn, next,” he was promised, and for a moment he wasn’t sure if he meant he could have Bane on his knees or if Barsad was going to have him like that. He shuddered when he realized he would be happy with either.

It turned out to be both, one after the other as it went on, and even Barsad seemed to lose himself to it as they touched and fucked and both happily laid themselves out for Bane to take as he pleased, sharing kisses, licking his come from each other’s necks and bellies until they fell into an exhausted heap.


	17. Chapter 17

Blake’s eyes were soft in the dim lighting of the room as he laid his head against Bane’s chest. He slowly caressed over his brow and watched those brown eyes go hazier, his eyelids flutter sweetly. His heat had broken, perhaps faster than he had ever experienced even when Talia and Barsad worked together with him. He felt his skin finally being allowed to reach a lower temperature, though he suspected he still felt quite warm by the way Blake rubbed and butted his cheek against his chest, how he sighed and settled more when Bane dropped a hand onto his shoulder.

“You are thinner,” he commented softly. It was an understandable thing when the city was being torn apart. He remembered well the feeling of wasting away when there was little in the pit. However, Blake seemed resourceful and he should have been able to obtain supplies for himself.

He watched as Blake scrunched his shoulders a little in response, sighed out and seemed too tired to do much more. He had worked very hard, indeed; Barsad, as well, who, though he had tried to excuse himself to give privacy after, had been pulled down to rest against his other side, his head close to Blake’s as he slept soundly.

“You should stay here.” He was not unsurprised to feel Blake’s shoulders tense lightly under his palm. “It would be better for you.”

“Nn-nn.” He was still groggy, but managed a small shake of his head. He had expected no less and, truly, perhaps he would have been almost disappointed if Blake had agreed. He had heard of his dedication to the lost children of Gotham through Talia. He could appreciate Blake’s struggle to preserve something he considered innocent. There were things in life worth sacrificing one’s own personal well-being for, things to lay down one’s life for. If Blake was not part of their own cause, he was pleased he had found a worthy one. It would fail, simply because it must, but still, it was a noble thing to die for.

The city’s borrowed time was drawing to a close, merely a month longer and their work would be done. Perhaps it was a selfish to wish he could persuade Blake to join them, not in ideals, certainly, but in their bedroom for more than carnal pleasures, but also for the idea of companionship, something he knew Blake sorely lacked. He was glad that he had Talia to provide it. He could admit to himself, and perhaps Barsad already knew, that he felt a fond attachment to this young man and his struggles. He watched as Blake licked over his dry lips and made a slight face, cleared his throat.

“There is water.” He pointed to Barsad’s canteen, set carefully on the table when he had undressed.  “Take the pill Barsad set out with it.”

Blake forced himself up with a grunt, a nearly unseen tremor running through his limbs. He spoke finally, hoarsely, and not without suspicion. “Pill? What is it?”

“Birth control.” He chuckled at Blake’s sudden mortified look.

“I’m an alpha, a MALE alpha.”

“And pregnancy is quite rare for you, but not unheard of.” He did not mention that perhaps it was only rare because so few alpha males took another into them. There was no need to embarrass him further at the moment. “Do you really wish to risk it?”

Blake shook his head a little, looking flushed. “I should go.”

“Rest, first. You’re too tired to even clean yourself at the moment, and you reek of me.”

Blake’s ears flushed red. It was quite charming. His face turned cloudy, uncertain.  “You making me stay?”

“When have I forced you to do anything this evening?” he returned, and the redness of Blake’s ears crept down to his neck. “You are vulnerable, now; were you to go out there as you are, I feel that trouble would find its way to you.”

“I can take care of myself,” he gritted out, stumbled out of the low bed and seemed surprised and sore at the hitch in his own step, no doubt in part from Barsad’s taking of him, something that had been quite intriguing to witness, indeed.

“Perhaps you can, little one.” He watched Blake’s head tilt back and the red scratches and bites across his throat as he tipped it and drank thirstily from the canteen, taking the pill with it after a moment of hesitancy. “But is it such a wise thing to risk? Knowing others depend on you to make it home in one piece?”

He could remember his own days in the pit, when he had been near certain he could take on a foe, gain more food from it, an item that would make life easier. Though he would only ever take those risks when he was certain, absolutely certain, that he would be able to come back to his cell in one piece to keep Talia safe from harm. He would never do anything that risked leaving her alone.

Blake once again proved his merit when his shoulders dropped in a quiet defeat. “You won’t make me stay?”

“I will not,” he promised solemnly, and was treated to Blake setting the canteen down and flopping back into the bed, clearly having not been ready to walk yet and still having clearly been willing to do just that out of pure determination. He curled on his side and for a short while seemed determined to rest alone. However, it did not take long for him to scoot back into Bane’s warmth.

“Barsad will escort you to wherever you wish to go, later.”

Blake hunched. “Believe it or not, I’ve been making it just fucking fine on my own for the past few months. I don’t need an escort.”

“Without your gun?” he asked. It did not escape his attention that the weapon they had lifted from him before had not been with him this time, nor had Talia seen him bring it to Wayne Enterprises. He had not expected the sudden stillness of Blake’s body, any flush still on his ears and neck gone.

“I don’t have a gun,” was the flat reply.

“And what has happened to it? Surely you were not so careless as to lose it.”

“I just don’t have it,” Blake snapped, then seemed to flinch, expecting some sort of reprimand that Bane had no intention of giving. “I threw it away.”

“That was foolish of you,” he rebuked mildly.

“I didn’t want it anymore.” His eyes would not meet him, and he was curious, pulling Blake so he was as pressed to the heat of his skin as he was earlier and forcing him to meet his eyes.

“Why?”

His brown eyes were clouded, closed off. It was striking, but he did not prefer it to the open look he had when he took his pleasure from him during the heat, when his pupils were large and he looked wanton for him.

He grasped his chin, pressing into a bruise there and watched as Blake squirmed, less in pain than it was discomfort. “Why?”

He looked away as much as he could, his tone soft, ridden with a guilt Bane could not understand. “I’m staying with kids. I’m not going to bring a gun around kids.” He hesitated, and Bane watched his eyes, waited patiently until the last part was whispered out. “I didn’t want to kill anyone else.”

“Ah,” he breathed out in understanding. He was somewhat surprised Blake had killed at all. He was certain it had been done to protect himself or another, though he doubted that Blake would look at it in the same manner. “It is no small feat to kill a man when one is unused to such things.” He noted the surprise in Blake’s eyes at his words. “Did you think I would mock you?”

“Don’t act like it’s a big deal for you to kill someone. You’re killing all of us,” he spat.

“That does not mean I do it for the pleasure of it. A doctor rarely enjoys amputating a limb, a vet does not wish to put down an animal. They do what is necessary for them, to save a patient, to end suffering, to make things better.”

“Killing millions of innocent people isn’t going to make the world a better place,” Blake argued. He sounded tired, though, as if he knew his argument was as pointless as it was. Neither of them would budge on their views.

“Innocent is a strong word for the people of Gotham, Blake,” was his only comment as he guided his head back down to his chest and stroked through his messy locks. Blake sighed, closed his eyes.

Perhaps it was only too strong for some.

He watched him sleep, watched both of them. He had always enjoyed how his brother looked when he found time to truly sleep.  Not the sleep he was usually required to engage in for the sake of a mission, with one eye open, tension in his shoulders and ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. His rest now showed in his face, mouth lax and open slightly as he breathed slow and even. He looked younger in such moments, not that Bane knew his true age. It had never been something of importance to know. However, seeing the two of them resting together, he could not help but wonder if they were perhaps closer in age than he would have originally thought.

Perhaps they were more alike than either of them realized; harsh upbringings, bitter sarcasm and quick wit to cover hurts. Barsad’s mask was his casual indifference when he knew that his brother held strong passion in his heart. Blake’s mask was his smile. Talia had told him much of it, the small forced replicas of happiness that he had directed towards her and others to try to appear unthreatening, to comfort others. He could not seem to hide his emotions as well as he thought he did, however. Bane could see them plainly and knew Talia could, as well. He wondered if there were time, if Blake would have grown to wear his mask as well as Barsad did, if his eyes would go sleepy and apathetic, only spark with passion and wit in private quarters.

He preferred them both as they were, he decided.

When he awoke, Blake was gone. He was impressed; he had been sleeping soundly, but he was still surprised he had been able to slip away undetected. Barsad sat up and scratched his beard, his yawn wide enough that his jaw cracked. It was entertaining to see his usual graceful steps have a slight waver to him, something he only saw after a heat when Bane had wrung the man dry of everything he had.

Bane followed him as they went to wash, stroked a hand down his back and enjoyed the way his brother paused and seemed to soak in the light touch before continuing on to the bathroom where they washed up under the chilly spray. He made an amused sound when Barsad pressed up closer to him, clearly wanting his skin to warm him against the cold water. His brother had become bolder during this occupation. Long hours of only the two of them together had meant boredom that could be fixed with casual exploration of one another.

He rarely initiated, but he found he did not mind when his brother did. He would come in from a patrol and  sit beside him casually, take off his armor, his boots, with slow, calm motions then ask him if it would please him to be touched, ready to busy himself with something else if the answer was no. Bane found he often tilted his head in acceptance now, and would put away the book he was reading, the map he was looking over. Such things kept well enough, and there was a sense of a timetable in his head now, an acknowledgement that there would only be so much time left in the world for him to take in his brother.


	18. Chapter 18

Blake tried to lock his thoughts up into a neat little box of denial, to ignore how strange his body felt when he slowly walked back to the orphanage. He was tired still, he ached everywhere and it was especially embarrassing the way he felt a hitch in his step from the slight soreness in his ass. It was more than that, though. He felt strange inside, lonely; he was used to lonely, but this felt worse. He could go back there, right now, and he wouldn’t have to be alone. He’d never had that option to turn down before.

He was cold.

If he went back now, he knew he’d be warm. It wasn’t food and water he was worried about, fuck, he was going to die soon, he could deal with the lack of nutrition. He was just so tired of everything else. He could go back there and stop fighting. He’d been fighting his whole life, and it had lost its appeal. It wasn’t just him he was fighting for, though. He climbed up the steps to St. Swithin’s and lightly touched the banister like he always found himself doing when he climbed the stairs. He wasn’t going to give up on trying to keep these kids safe.

He cleaned up as much as he could with as little water as possible, then checked on the kids, asked how Debra was doing. He could smell her a little, even shut away in the father’s room on his cot, but he was too tired for his dick to give more than a fleeting twitch of interest. It did present a problem, though, as he just wanted to rest and he had no place to do it, all of the kids were up right now and playing, they’d try to get Blake to play along if he went to their sleep area.

He got a raised eyebrow from a couple of the other adults when he finally just curled up in the corner of one of the quieter rooms with his coat and tried to sleep. He knew those with better noses could smell omega heat on him and probably wondered what he’d been up to, if they should be wary of him. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that the number of omegas being forced to do things they didn’t want to do was skyrocketing without suppressants, but how fucking dare they wonder if he was out there forcing someone. He wanted it to make him angry, but he just got more tired.

Sleep didn’t work out so well, though, too many eyes on him. So he went out, instead, bleary eyed when he made his way to see Ms. Tate, to play lookout, to just be in the company of someone who didn’t make him feel so confused, or angry all of the time.

“You look as though you are half dead,” she pointed out, and from anyone else he would have bristled, but her he just gave a weary smile.

“Sounds about right.”

She patted the seat beside her at the window’s ledge welcomingly, and he was grateful that through all of this Ms. Tate had given him a sense of friendship that he’d never felt elsewhere. He suddenly felt badly about all of the thoughts he’d been feeling about Barsad, about betas in general, when he talked to her.

It had been stupid emotions and instincts making him snap out in his mind like that. That wasn’t him, and he was ashamed of those thoughts. He’d always tried to keep everyone equal in his mind, he’d had enough of dumb hierarchies, but in that heat it had made perfect sense and that was in some ways terrifying. Now he just felt guilty when he looked at her.

“What is it?” she asked finally. “You won’t stop looking at me like you want to apologize, but as far as I know you have done nothing to wrong me.” Her tone was light, playful, and that made him feel even worse.

“It’s nothing. I just… It was a long night.” He scratched his head and focused his attention on the window.

She laughed softly, and he jumped when her fingers touched lightly against his shoulder. “A long night, indeed. Do you think I cannot smell an omega’s cycle on you, Blake?”

He felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“I—”

“I am certain that they enjoyed themselves, as did you.” When he dared to glance at her, her eyes sparkled and she wasn’t questioning him at all. She trusted him to not even think he was out there taking advantage of someone, and for some reason that made his chest ache.

He just nodded a little, sighing when she rubbed her hand down his back. He was surprised by how much strength he felt in her touch. He let himself lean against her on the window seat, felt her fingers trace the skin on his neck, inspecting a few bruises and marks.

“You have found an omega with some bite,” she teased with a throaty laugh.

“God. You have no fucking idea,” he couldn’t help but groan. It felt strangely better to even mention it. He hadn’t mentioned anything to anyone, and to finally just say something, it was a relief. “He’s… well, he’s something else entirely.”

She made an amused sound and her fingers crept to his hair, carding through it lightly. It frankly felt amazing with all of the soreness still thrumming through his body. He shifted and he wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up practically in her arms as they sat on the window seat, but he was fucking tired and she didn’t seem to mind so he lifted his legs, stretched them out carefully and closed his eyes.

“Tell me about him.”

“He, uh…” He didn’t even know what to say. It wasn’t even just a him anymore. It was a them. “He’s uh… intimidating as hell.”

She laughed lightly. “Demanding?”

He snorted. “You have no idea.”

“Yet you went back.”

“How did you—”

“I smelled him on you the first time we met.”

Oh. He didn’t think it had been that noticeable on his coat. He wondered if others had noticed. He hoped not. Ms. Tate just seemed to be extremely perceptive. “Yeah, I uh, went back.” He swallowed a little.

He’d wanted to, not that Barsad would have probably given him much of a choice if he didn’t eventually agree, but he had. He’d buried his face in his jacket, his neck, taken in their scents even knowing it was going to make him feel helpless and there wouldn’t be a turning back point.

“Then there must be something there worthwhile, something that draws you.”

“Yeah, it’s called a heat, you ever been in one?” he snapped then he wanted smack himself for doing it. That was fucking rude; you didn’t just ask shit like that. It was crass, Ms. Tate deserved a shitload more respect than that, and he started to sit up, to turn around and apologize.

He was startled when she laughed loudly and pulled him back. “I am amazed your mouth does not get you into more trouble, Blake.”

“Me, too,” he groaned and rubbed over his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I haven’t.” He could feel her shrug. That wasn’t too unusual. Beta heats could be pretty rare, some didn’t seem to get them at all or only once or twice in a life time, others got them every year or so. It was kind of strange how different it could be. Sometimes Blake didn’t get how having heats that were just closer together and stronger made someone an entirely different dynamic, but he knew there had to be a lot more science to it beyond his own simplified Gotham Public School-educated viewpoint.

He didn’t really know how to answer her, so he watched the streets below instead, felt his eyelids growing heavy and struggling to keep them open.

“Rest your eyes. I’ll let you know if something changes.”

That wasn’t fair. She didn’t have to be doing this at all. Even being at the window was a risk. Some of them had been shot through by rioters angry at what they thought Wayne Enterprises stood for. She shouldn’t be up there, but she insisted on sitting beside him, always. Her fingers were gently rubbing away the tension in him, and it was too tempting to refuse. She was always helping him, he remembered her asking to help him, help Gordon. He didn’t want her getting hurt, but sometimes he talked to her about things, and it helped because she’d actually listen. She agreed that there was probably a triggerman out there, that it’d be stupid to just move on Bane.

He thought about the rumors that had been going around in the resistance. Wondered what she’d think of them. He glanced around to make sure there wasn’t anyone around. Mostly this room was left alone, though, aside from Lucius checking in, and he’d trust him with the information, too.

“There’s word… that they’re going to be sending undercover ops in through one of the next supply trucks.”

She paused. “Is there? That seems like a risk. I assume they would check the trucks crossing the bridge.”

“They say they worked out a way, won’t say how. Fuck, it might just be a rumor. I don’t even know how Gordon knows.” He shrugged a little. Saying it out loud made it seem almost ridiculous.

“Perhaps it will work. If they get through, will you tell them what Lucius told you?” Ms. Tate’s fingers went back to the light repetitive strokes across his scalp, and he furrowed his brow.

“Like they’ll listen. No one fucking wants to hear what I have to say.” He was doing what he could, trying to convince Gordon he was sure there was a trigger man, that they should take them out and pool all of their resources to get the cops trapped underground out, but no one was listening, not even Gordon, though he was polite enough not to be the one of the ones whispering what a ‘brash hot-headed little alpha’ he was behind his back. Gordon even put a stop to it once or twice, told others to knock it off, but that didn’t mean he was going to actually listen to Blake about this.

“Then bring them here, Blake. Lucius and I can explain things to them. Science cannot be ignored, can it?”

“You’d be amazed,” he spat out. He’d thought he’d known an awful lot of things about science, about biology, before everything in his life proved him wrong. “You really think I should bring them here? It could be risky for you all.”

“Some things are worth the risk.”

The thought echoed in his mind more than it ever should have as he slipped off into sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

He mumbled and complained when she shook him awake. “M’up.”

“Ah, so I see,” she agreed. “Quite awake, indeed.

He made a face and finally sat up, wincing at the crick he’d put into his spine for the angle he had fallen asleep in. “How long was I sleeping?”

“Only an hour or so, but it is getting dark very early now. I did not wish for you to travel without light.”

He nodded in agreement. The day was quickly slipping away and it was bad enough being on the streets in daylight. He thanked her before he left and crunched through the snow on his way back to St. Swithin’s. It had been snowing a lot more, and it was a little eerie how long the snow stayed white and clean on the sidewalks when before it would have turned to gray slush from hundreds of footsteps in mere hours. He looked around and took the time to duck down behind a car, dropping his line down the grate with a note. He didn’t always have much to say, but damn if he wasn’t going to find SOMETHING to tell the other officers down there. He felt the little tug and pulled the line up empty, spooled it back and put it away.

He really wasn’t expecting to see Barsad sitting on the hood of the car, watching him intently. It startled the shit out of him, made him instinctively reach for the holster he no longer wore.

“Catching fish in the sewers? How resourceful.”

“The fuck are you doing here?” He hadn’t heard a thing. Even knowing Barsad was quiet, that was enough to make him jumpy.

Barsad fixed a lazy gaze on him then glanced up at the sky, reclining his gloved hands back onto the hood of the car. “Imagine my surprise when I saw you stooped here in the distance, when I decided rather than to finish the patrol in this direction I sent the men with me back to base, instead.”

He swore and looked around. The streets looked empty. He hadn’t even heard a patrol coming.

“They are gone.” Barsad hopped down lightly from the hood. He didn’t even make a sound as he landed and brushed snow from his hands, slipping off his gloves. Frankly, Blake was a little jealous. He stepped closer and Blake knew if he didn’t step back a bit he was going to touch him, so he shrugged away.

“What do you want? There’s no way Bane went into heat again that fast.”

“He did not,” Barsad agreed. “Perhaps you would like to spend the evening with us, regardless.”

“What? Want to stick it in me one more time before all of our asses explode?” Blake spat at him bitterly. Maybe they could figure out something ELSE to make him feel like less of an alpha while they were at it. He’d heard about shit like that, once or twice; stuff off the market for alphas who felt like they were born in the wrong dynamic, drugs and injections to force the body into a heat. It was all black market and probably deadly, and Blake wanted nothing to do with it. Not that Barsad or Bane seemed to need it to make him feel like he was their bitch. Anger bubbled up in him at the thought.

It felt like it zapped out of him when Barsad dropped a hand to the back of his neck, squeezed it warmly. His knees shook a little and his breathing quickened. His body quickly fucking remembered how Barsad had pinned him to the bed on his knees the evening before and rutted into him until he’d practically mewled for it, until the lube and come inside of him made him feel as wet as an omega inside. It didn’t make any fucking sense, but that hand on his neck felt good, warm. He sighed and tilted his head when Barsad’s thumb pressed into the muscle there, rubbing a little circle into it.

“So edgy, Blake.” Barsad sounded amused. “I was merely thinking you looked hungry, cold, that you might wish to share our warmth for the evening. I did not intend to seduce you, though if you are offering…” He trailed his eyes down Blake’s body with enough casual hunger in his calm eyes to make Blake feel an uncomfortable heat bloom in his stomach that was only in part due to embarrassment.

“I wasn’t, and I already told him that I wasn’t going to stay with you.”

“Spending the night and living in our quarters are very different things.”

Barsad’s hand left his neck and wrapped around his waist. It wasn’t like it was a bad offer, was it? He didn’t have a place to sleep at the moment with Debra in his cot. He’d spotted a wood stove in their quarters before and while it hadn’t been needed with all of the warmth their bodies had generated that night, maybe it would be lit and warm. That would be crossing a line, though. He wouldn’t be able to blame this on Bane’s heat, and Barsad wasn’t forcing him. This would be on him. This was stupid and risky and he was getting in way over his head.

_Some things are worth the risk._

He leaned against Barsad, dropped his head down onto his shoulder. He was tired of feeling alone. “I hate you,” he mumbled out, but even he knew there wasn’t any venom in the words. They just him got a light pat on the side.

“I’ve grown rather fond of you, as well, little one. Come on.”

“You’re fucking smaller than me,” he complained. “And I’m leaving in the morning.”

“No one will stop you, and I shall call you what I please.”

“Scruffy basta—” He yelled when Barsad scooped up a handful of snow from a nearby abandoned car and rubbed it in his face. It stung and he shoved away from Barsad, scooped up snow and tried to fling it at him.

Barsad ducked away and Christ, he moved fast. He’d vaulted himself over the hood of a car, landed on the other side of it without a sound, like it was nothing.

“Get back here you fucker!” He wasn’t even sure why he was laughing; fuck this wasn’t hilarious.  He wasn’t having a snowball fight. He ducked as a ball of snow whizzed past his ear. They were totally having a snowball fight.

He thought he should probably put it on his short list of lifetime accomplishments when he managed to beam Barsad right in the face. Barsad seemed just as surprised about it, wiping snow from his face and chasing after Blake through the streets. His face was freezing, but he couldn’t stop laughing, even when Barsad caught up to him, pushed him into a snow bank and climbed onto him, giving him a vicious little smirk as he pinned his shoulders to the snow and Blake flailed a little trying to get out from under him.

“Look at you, little snow angel.”

“Let me up,” he grumbled then stilled when Barsad leaned down and pushed their chilled lips together. It was one way to warm up, and he tilted for it, felt his cheeks flushing from running and the heat in his stomach.

“I like you under me,” Barsad breathed out against his lips, and Blake bit back a whine when he let go of him. It was much easier to just wrap his arms around Barsad’s neck and pull him down than demand he kiss him again.

Barsad sounded pleased, rubbed against his cheek, rough enough bristle to brush and burn, then teased at Blake’s tongue with his own, drew it into his mouth where Blake, in what clearly had to be a temporary bout of insanity brought on by the cold, was more than happy to play. Barsad tasted like coffee and Blake was almost bitter. He hadn’t had coffee in months. Hands sifted into his hair, cold fingers cradled his head and somehow, despite the fact that it was cold and snowy and that he was sort of in a snow bank still, he felt warm.

He protested when Barsad pulled back suddenly, glanced around and pressed a finger to his lips.

“Shh, we are both being foolish, now. The street is no place for such things.” He trailed his finger with a tantalizing slowness over Blake’s lips. “Come, we will go warm up.”

____________________

Blake’s breath came out in visible little frosty puffs. He looked sweet and flushed under him. He found himself tempted to tilt his head back, knowing that Blake would hold still for it, would let his throat be bare so he could kiss at whatever skin was visible and peeking out of his coat collar. It was an even greater temptation to slip down his body and take him into his mouth. He was sure his reactions to it would be wonderful, but if such a thing were to happen, he suspected his brother would prefer to witness it.

Meeting up with Blake had not been his intention at all when he set out that morning, but it was far from a coincidence. While he had marched with the men he had slipped his fingers under the metal lip of a seemingly abandoned mailbox, snatched up a message from his sister and read it as they continued the patrol.

It contained updates, important information to give to Bane, some thoughts she’d wanted to share with them, then, almost in passing, a subtle order to check on Blake who looked worn thin from both of them. He had nearly smiled at that; they had not had time to mention to their sister that Bane had had another heat, but clearly she now knew. She had evidently slipped the paper into its hiding spot only moments before he had acquired it as she told him he could most likely easily pick him up before he made it home.

It had been an easy thing to change the route to one he knew from Talia that Blake took, and easier still to send the men off to march when he spotted Blake crouched down beside a car. At first he thought he was filching gasoline, but when he approached he was struck by the cleverness of Blake sending messages down to the incarcerated police officers in their final resting place. Bane would be impressed by it.

He had enjoyed their impromptu romp in the snow. He had not heard Blake laugh before, sound mirthful. It was pleasant, and he wished Bane had been there to share it, and to witness how Blake had wrapped around him, kissed eagerly without the scent of heat to entice him. Perhaps he could be persuaded to do more, later. When he finally let Blake up, he looked somewhat nervous, perhaps embarrassed that he had let his desires get the best of him, but he still followed, fell into pace beside him.

“You should let us give you a gun,” he spoke casually, remembering the way Blake’s hand had whipped to his side when startled. It was a good instinct. He was fast. He could be faster if he were trained. Perhaps he could persuade him to take a few lessons with him.

Blake glanced over and shook his head quickly. “No guns.”

Barsad nearly made a sour face as he was reminded all too well of their former brother shouting such a thing to the thief on the rooftops. It was a nonsensical ideal when one needed to survive in a war zone.

“A weapon of some sorts, then. You do not even carry a knife.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I recall seeing otherwise myself, and putting a bullet through more than one back during it.”

Blake flinched, as though the thought of those men being killed for him was a discomfort. “A knife wouldn’t have helped then. I was still outnumbered.”

“It would if you knew how to wield it. We could show you.”

“A knife isn’t going to stop me from exploding, either.” Blake stared at the ground as he walked. Barsad could understand the struggle in him. He did not understand the cause or why he had to be part of such a sacrifice as Gotham’s reaping. Truthfully, it was a shame that Blake would have to taste the fires, as well. He was full of promise. The needs of the many outweighed their own desires, though, and they could not simply send Blake off, nor would he go. There was a small hope for him, however. Gotham was a large city; the bomb could not reach every area of it. He was not sure, however, if it would be any kinder for Blake to live when they were slated to die. He did not seem to have much else to hold onto.

When he wrapped an arm around his shoulder, Blake tensed for a moment, but he did not pull away. “We would like to know you are safe, in the meantime. Will you let us show you?”

“Fine.”

It pleased him that Bane was surprised when walked through the door—and not the window, for once—with Blake. It was a rare thing to be able to surprise his brother. They were both chilled by then, and he saw how Blake’s eyes lit up at the sight of the fire Bane had started in their stove.

“And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Blake?” Bane tilted his head curiously. Blake took his eyes from the fire and looked nervous, nearly about to bolt.

“I persuaded him that we are not such bad company for the evening.” He unwound his scarf. “He wished to join us for the night.”

“Wished is a strong word,” Blake muttered, but he tugged off his jacket, stepped closer to the fire and Bane.

It was clear from his eyes that his brother was pleased with the idea. He stepped to place his hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Then it shall be a pleasant evening, indeed.”

“I will go check on the men.” He warmed his fingers in front of the flames for just a moment. He had had his own time with Blake, and he wished his brother to be able to enjoy the same. It was clear Bane knew his intentions.

“I am sure it will not take long.”

“No time at all,” he nodded in agreement.


	20. Chapter 20

Blake’s fingers looked bitten red as he wiggled them as close to the fire as he dared.

“You look soaked through.”

“He threw snowballs at me,” Blake complained, rubbing his fingers over his nose to try to warm away the red tint there still. “He’s a jerk.”

“He can be quite playful when he is at ease.” He sat down and rumbled with amusement when Blake didn’t startle at being pulled into his lap. He merely squirmed and made a face, and then when he seemed to realize he could gain more heat from it, settled back against him.

Blake sucked in a breath and his belly dipped when Bane placed a hand there. Bane watched as his head ticked ever so slightly to the side, exposing his neck, the purpling of bruises from nails and teeth able be seen without his jacket there to hide them. It made a wave of possessiveness rise in him; it was strange to feel it so strongly for him outside of his heat. He ran a finger along his neck and watched how Blake shivered for it, laid his head back against him.

“Your submission is beautiful, Blake.”

That clearly vexed him a bit, made his brow furrow. “I don’t—” he stopped and his eyes fluttered when Bane wrapped his hand around his throat. When Bane gave a controlled squeeze, Blake swallowed heavily. The muscles under his fingers contracted and Blake’s body went loose against him.

"Do you not even understand how you react? There is no heat scent in this room, and yet you dip and tilt your neck as though you are trying to dance for me."

Blake’s hands clenched into tight fists at that, frustration over his feelings, his body’s desires. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me,” was muttered harshly. “I hate it.”

He took those fists into his own hands, rubbed the chill from them. “You hate that you desire it,” he corrected. “There is a difference. It is not a bad thing, to desire what you do.”

“It is if you’re an alpha.”

“Why? Because your society has told you that you are not allowed such things?”

“Because it’s not NATURAL,” Blake hissed out, hunched his shoulders. “You feel those things because you’re an omega, don’t you? That’s your nature and not mine.”

He could not help but quirk an eyebrow. “And where, in any of our meetings, have I shown you a desire to submit?”

Blake faltered. “You… you hold it back. I get it. I mean, no, not really, but you have to hold it back, to do this shit that you’re doing. People wouldn’t think you were as dangerous otherwise. They would think you’re weak.”

He turned Blake in his lap, made him face him and touched over his lean face, watched his nervous brown eyes flick from his own to the mask and back. “We would not wish for that, would we? It may surprise you, Blake, to know that I have never felt a desire to submit.”

“You had to have—” he started to argue.

“I have not. Not in the manner you are thinking. I do have a desire to serve another, but as an equal, as a friend. I do not wish to be beneath them nor do they wish to be above me.”

Oh, how curiosity sparked in those eyes. He’d known Blake was clever, but it was a sight to see the thoughts clicking and whirling behind his eyes, absorbing this new piece of information.

He brushed his hair back from his forehead, the play with Barsad having mussed it. “Yes, they are the triggerman, and no, you will never discover them, but I do not expect you not to try regardless of that.”

Blake’s face grew cloudy then, troubled, but his eyes still glowed as he tried to work out the puzzle in his head.  He tapped a finger against his temple, surprising him and taking his focus again. “You will have plenty of time to think on it in the morning.”

“None of us have a lot of time left.”

“Then why waste it?” Bane turned him back around so he was curled against him, ran a hand over his stomach and felt him go lax again. One of the few regrets of his mask was that he could not properly smell Blake, but he made do. He pressed the grate of the mask against Blake’s soft locks and breathed deeply. Tufts of hair worked in through the tiny holes the grate and brushed across his lips. He could smell him then, over the medication, musky and young, sweat and dirt from running and fighting, from never giving up his cause.

For his actions he received a minute squirm, an entertaining noise. He breathed him in again.

“S-stop.” A fidget and a little giggle followed.

“You are quite ticklish.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He shoved at his arm. “Stop sniffing me. It’d probably tickle you if you had hair, too, ok?”

His laugh vibrated against Blake’s scalp and he seemed surprised by it. He smoothed his hair before he settled in with him more, reaching to pick up the yarn he had been working with before he had begun to work the fire.

Curious eyes watched him for a moment or two as he wound the yarn around his fingers. “Are you… knitting?” He sounded incredulous.

“I am. It is good to have something to keep one’s fingers and mind nimble when they must be still for long periods.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. You’re KNITTING.”

“Yes.”

Blake stared at him and sighed. “I’m really the only person who finds that funny? Really?” He mumbled and laid his head against him, looking sullen from having his amusement robbed from him.

“Would you like me to teach you?”

“Knitting is for omegas, GIRL omegas, Bane.” His voice sounded nearly petulant, but he eyed the yarn, watched how Bane looped it around his fingers then looked at his own fingers curiously.

Talia’s mother had shown him this, long ago. It was something for him to focus on when the heat was coming but not strong enough to be given in to yet. He would knit and unravel the same bit of old, frayed string again and again, put all of his concentration into it. He could remember when he had bartered for enough yarn to make Talia a little scarf, something to keep the cold and plague away.

“Hold out your fingers.”

He made a noise of approval when Blake splayed his fingers. He showed him how to weave the yarn between them, to loop it around. With careful instruction it soon had all of Blake’s interest, and he nearly had his tongue stuck out in his intense concentration. He let him utilize the yarn, content to hold him in his lap and watch the fire. It was something he had done with Talia many times, or with Barsad’s head laid out in his lap more recently, something that had a meditative quality to it. It revitalized him.

The fire crackled and he shifted Blake lightly in his lap to add another piece of wood. He barely noticed. When he ran a hand through his hair, though, his head tipped forward so he could rub at the back of his neck.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s… I don’t know, interesting…” He held up what he had been working on. “Is it ok? I don’t think it really looks like anything…”

“You have just started. Keep practicing.”

It was a quiet way to spend the time and he enjoyed it. Barsad joined them, complimented Blake’s work politely which Blake clearly had not expected, then he pulled off his boots and dropped down beside them, looking weary.

“Have you even eaten today?

“Have you?” Barsad challenged right back at him, earning a squeeze to the back of his neck. He brought out rations for himself and Blake, gave Bane goading looks and subtle prods with his foot until he relented and took food, stepped into the bathroom to eat as he usually did. He did not like to lift the mask from his mouth, kept on his face but raised so he could still take in the fumes, any longer than needed, and doing it as such allowed him to both eat and take care of other necessities such as cleaning his teeth quickly and efficiently before his body protested too greatly.

The soft sound of conversation drifted through the door, questions about his eating, Barsad rebuffing them politely with other topics until he stepped back in and sat back with them. Barsad had shoved another portion onto Blake’s plate, insisting he eat it. Bane was inclined to agree. He gestured Barsad closer and he sat beside him, heavy eyes lidding further when he wrapped his hands around his shoulders, rubbed  his scent into his skin as he massaged hard into the bone and muscle there until his brother sighed and nearly drooped against him, the tension in his muscles from a hard day’s work lifting.

“Thank you, brother.”

He nodded silently and guided him into removing his shirt, worked down the knobs of his spine until Barsad looked nearly ready to curl in on himself from the pleasure, his knees bent and his arms curled around them, his face resting against them as he moaned softly.

“Jesus, you’re like a scrappy little mutt,” Blake snorted and shoved some jerky into his mouth.

“This mutt still has bite, pup.” Barsad glanced up at him from over his arms until Bane found a knot of tension in him. Digging into it made a small shudder run through his lithe frame until he worked it away. “Mmph, may I do you the same return next, brother?”

“If you do not collapse, after.” His response earned a low chuckle, a quiet promise that he would not do so, and Bane finished finally. Barsad straightened, stretched out carefully and sighed. When he touched his shoulder, seeking permission, Bane laid out on the rug for him, long fingers trailing down the scar on his back before working into it. He growled; the initial touch always cut like a knife, but the constant pressure soon worked it out, made it into something pleasant that would take away the muscle deep aches in his back for the night.

“Blake, you are staring,” Barsad teased and he turned his head, saw that Blake had indeed forsaken his food, instead watching how Barsad’s hands rubbed his skin. “Would you like me to show you how?”

Blake swallowed nervously, but crept closer. Barsad showed him where to put his hands, how to dig his fingers into knots and scars until the tension eased from them. Blake seemed hesitant to put any real pressure on them until Barsad teased him, questioned how strong he thought he was if he truly thought he could hurt Bane with his fingertips. That got a curt laugh and then the right amount of pressure against his spine. He groaned lowly in response to it and felt Blake’s fingers still, heard his breathing grow heavier.

“Very good. You will take care of him and I will take care of you.”

Blake was clearly inexperienced with touching like this, but he did well, kneading his fingers where Barsad showed him. His own low moans soon joined Bane’s as Barsad rubbed down his back in return.

“Fuck, that’s amazing.” He soon seemed to lose concentration and Bane reached back to touch his thigh in reminder. His fingers went back to rubbing until Bane felt the tension in his back leave as much as it could. He shifted to his side and watched as Barsad finished rubbing Blake’s shoulders. Blake whimpered softly when his hands left him, but sighed when Barsad placed a light kiss to his neck.

“It is time for bed,” Bane decided. It was good to have Blake’s company, but it would do none of them good to stay up late into the night. Blake nodded in agreement and sleep soon found the three of them on the bedding together with limbs tangled and the soft sounds of their relaxed breathing filling the air.


	21. Chapter 21

He left the next morning, this time after they woke. He wasn’t scared they were going to try and stop him this time. He felt… good when he woke up, so good and warm and, of all things, safe, and that spooked him just as much as it made him want to close his eyes and rest for just a few more minutes. He couldn’t understand it, but fuck what made sense anymore, anyway. When Barsad had invited him back that evening he’d shrugged, said he’d think about it.

For the next week it was like he lived two entirely different lives. Both of them had their ups and downs, and when Blake stopped to think about it too hard he got sick to the stomach, but he didn’t feel like he could give either one of them up, anymore. He’d wake up on top of Bane, or wrapped up in Barsad’s arms, well rested, not hurting or aching. That was one life and he’d tuck it away, just like he tucked away the gentle kiss Barsad would greet him with upon waking, the press of a thumb to his neck and the trail of fingertips over his lips that Bane would use to say goodbye.

Then it was his other life, and he checked on St. Swithin’s, played with the kids, taught them to knit, well, mostly the girls and a handful of braver boys. He ignored the strange looks he got; the kids loved it. Then it was work for Gordon, whatever he could do, spying with Ms. Tate, the highlight of his second life’s day. After, he would go to them. He always told himself he would be going back to the orphanage, but there he ended up, instead. The guards didn’t even look at him anymore when he went through the front door.

They would always look pleased to see him, like they felt he belonged there. Sometimes the thought made his throat tight, made him wonder why this just couldn’t have happened some other way. He felt like if it had, maybe, maybe he could just accept the things his body wanted better, because he was starting to give in, to acknowledge that he was clearly messed up and that he did really want them. He had sort of had to acknowledge that this wasn’t just heat or sex when they hadn’t even HAD sex since he’d started coming to them at night.

He’d expected it, been waiting for it. The moment Bane would lay him on his back and ride him, for Barsad to push into him, but instead he most often found himself being held. Bane’s fingers were constantly in his hair or rubbing his throat, his stomach, Barsad would kiss him across the same spots, sometimes lick over them, but it didn’t become more than that. Most often Bane showed him how to knit, Barsad taught him how to hold a knife and to throw it.

They’d tried to find out about his hobbies, interests, but mostly he didn’t feel he had any. After some persuasion on their parts he admitted that, in his more delinquent days, he’d been a little bit of a hustler when it came to card games. It had made him some good money, and Barsad found a deck of cards so he could teach them different tricks. They watched him perform with a serious intensity that he’d never felt directed at him before. It felt good, made his fingers feel quicker when he shuffled through the deck.

By the end of the week, Mr. Tate was teasing him, and he felt his cheeks go red.

“You have been in such a good mood lately, Blake. Usually you are so sullen. Has your omega swept you off of your feet?”

He snorted and tentatively handed her the scarf he had been working on carefully for the past week. It probably looked sloppy as hell, loose and crooked stitches, too wide, but he liked the color, a deep, muted purple. He thought it’d look nice on her, and it was always cold; he worried about her. He knew she slipped out sometimes, so sure she’d be fine and not recognized as one of Gotham’s leading figures. It wasn’t like he could blame her. He’d go nuts cooped up in here all of the time.

“What’s this?”

“I just thought you might be cold.” He shrugged and sat down on the window seat, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips when she wrapped it around her neck and sat beside him.

“Word is they’ll be trying to send the special ops in tomorrow, if they’re even coming.”

She nodded as she watched through the window, running her fingers down the seam of her coat absently. “Do you think they are?”

He dug his fingers into his coat pockets, his fingers touching over the worn out bit of chalk there, feeling the dust it left on his fingertips. He thought about the marks he’d been leaving around the city. He hadn’t told anyone about them. It felt stupid, but sometimes you had to have hope. “Yeah, yeah, I think they are,” he reassured her. “Just hold on, ok? We’ll get out of this.”

She brushed her fingers over his arm. “I am certain you are doing everything you can.” It was the practical response, and he liked her all the more for it. She could be the practical one and he’d have a tiny bit of hope for both of them.

They hadn’t wanted to listen to him, just like he knew they wouldn’t.

“Dial it back, officer. The situation is unprecedented. We can't do anything to risk millions of lives.” It was clear Captain Jones was looking at him dismissively.

He might as well have called him a hot-head while he was at it. It was clear the guy had figured out he was an alpha. He didn’t know how, maybe his posturing, though he was surprised he still stood like one after so much time with them. The guy had to be an alpha, or, well, Blake would have thought he had to be before Bane. He thought he could always tell by looking at someone, now he wasn’t so sure. This guy probably, though, tied with an omega and maybe a couple of kids most likely, which meant he was settled down, taken seriously. Not Blake, basically.

“Are you gonna tell him? Are you gonna tell him what's really going on?” He looked to Gordon in frustration. He’d told him what Ms. Tate had said to him, had urged him to go to her if they questioned things. He was relieved when Gordon tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement to him.

“Captain, the uh... situation is more complicated than you think. There's someone you need to meet.”

Thank God someone was finally listening to him.

He felt his shoulders hitch up in annoyance when Captain Jones questioned his chalk drawing. He hadn’t really meant for him to see it. It had just become a habit. It was true, though; it didn’t matter what he believed, he sure as hell had no idea what he believed anymore. He just knew he wasn’t going to let those little faces in the orphanage turn to ash, and he needed other people to have some sort of hope or they were all as good as dead.

He guided them to Wayne Enterprises. He had a feeling Captain Jones wanted him left behind, but he was the only one that was going to be let in without a fight, so Captain Jones could go fuck himself. He took them to Lucius, to Ms. Tate. She was wearing the scarf, still. He hoped it kept her warmer.

He could hear the guilt in her voice when she blamed herself for the bomb. He reached out to touch the back of her hand lightly while Lucius explained how little time there was left to stop it. They exchanged grim looks when they saw the doubt in Captain Jones’ face, but Blake could see the resigned acceptance when Lucius convinced him.

Good, now maybe they could get somewhere. He’d been thinking about what Bane had said, that there really was a triggerman. He couldn’t piece it together, though. If it wasn’t Barsad, he didn’t even know where to begin. He’d barely seen Bane do more than glance at the other men who served him. They needed to be able to figure it out, and they needed to move fast. This would finally, hopefully, rally everyone.

“Alright.” Captain Jones looked at the men with him. “Let's move away from this location and call it in.”

He nodded in agreement and started to step forward. “Right. Let's go.”

“No, we'll take it from here. You stay and look after these folks.”

No room for more than one alpha.  He nearly growled, moving forward to follow him anyway. Ms. Tate’s hand went to his shoulder. “Blake, stay with me, please?”

He hesitated. She was doing it to keep him from running off and running his mouth while he was at it. She knew he wouldn’t start a fist fight or a brawl which is what Jones would probably expect, but he would rip him a new one verbally. If it wasn’t for him, they wouldn’t even know how bad the situation was. It wasn’t fucking pride or anything, it was just fact that they needed his help and he was risking a lot to give it. They could at least be grateful.

“Ms. Tate…”

“Stay,” she ordered him, her eyes focused on him, unwavering. He understood suddenly how exactly she had made it to the top of the business world. She felt like she could force him to his knees with her stare.

“I’m so sick of this bullshit.”

“I grow tired of it, as well,” she agreed. “Perhaps with help, the world will one day rise above biased beliefs.”

“Not too fucking like—” he cut himself off when he suddenly heard gunshots firing through the air

“Shit, someone sold us out!” He grabbed onto her, ran. She wasn’t going to get hurt. He could hear screaming. He ran towards the back offices, back to where he had first broken in all of those months ago. “Come on, through here,” he urged, shoving a chair under the door to buy them time. “There’s a fire escape.”

A brief pang of guilt ran through him when she climbed out and he slammed the window behind her, locked it. He ignored her hand pounding on the window, how she shouted at him through the glass. Maybe there was nothing he could do, but he had to at least try. They had all scattered, he didn’t know who had gotten out.

When he slipped his knife from his belt his fingers wrapped around it in a defensive grip, just like Barsad had thought him.

He hadn’t expected the man to be there when he crept to the corner of the hall, peeked around the corner. He hadn’t expected to see Bane, either, stalking into the room and looking around at the contents, the people. His eyes fixed dispassionately on a body, and Blake realized it was Jones, still alive. There was an army of Bane’s men there, armed and more than ready to fire. The grip on his knife made his hand ache and he felt helpless. What could he possibly fucking do? There was nothing to do but watch.

Bile rose in his throat. He felt sick having to just watch, stuck in his position as Bane knelt on Jones’ throat, choking the life out of him. The man struggled and clawed at Bane’s leg, his eyes bulging and his body jerking finally before it went far too still. Blake had seen death, had killed, but this was different. His had been quick, self-defense. This had been a slow, ruthless, execution.

He grit his teeth. He had to get out of here. More shots were being fired, and he had no idea what would happen if they found him here. He didn’t think they would kill him, but he doubted their men had the same concerns. Over the chaos, he heard Barsad inform Bane of the people living there. If he hadn’t gotten Ms. Tate out, she would have been rounded up like them, for so-called judgment in Dr. Crane’s kangaroo court.

Blake seethed, felt old rage that had been on a simmer for the past week bubble out of him. It clashed with the empty numbness he felt welling in his heart. He had known. They had never made any false pretenses about it. He had known exactly who they were. It had been easier, though, to distance himself from the idea, to think of the Bane and Barsad he saw on the television and the Bane who held him in his lap and stroked through his hair, the Barsad who kissed him like he was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted, as entirely different beings, just like he’d been living two different lives. He’d just been willing to ignore it for the entire week, a selfish week so he could feel good, comforted. No more. He had just received a reminder of exactly what he was dealing with.

Ms. Tate was still on the fire escape when he snuck back to the office. She looking concerned and chilled, her hands folded under her arms. “Blake.”

“I’m ok. We just need to get you somewhere safe.”

Her hand hovered near his shoulder and he couldn’t. He couldn’t take being touched right then. He looked at her pleadingly and it was taken away. He felt relieved. Something felt raw inside of him, and he was disgusted with himself, with how stupid he’d been that he’d let it come this far. How had he expected this to end? They would either all die in the explosion or the two of them would be dead and he would be alone again.

“Blake…”

“Come on,” he choked out harshly and climbed down the fire escape.


	22. Chapter 22

He took her with him to St. Swithin’s. She seemed almost leery about going inside, looked at the children there with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. He wondered if she’d ever even been around kids before, and it was something to focus on at least. He smiled when she crouched down by Karen and took hold of her doll, listening to Karen introduce it to her.

An adult willing to play during the tension of occupation was a treasured. When Ms. Tate didn’t rebuff them, she soon had half a dozen children around her, each wanting to play. She looked for him quickly and he laughed.

“You look like you’re getting along. I’m going to go talk to the father about you staying.”

Her fingers grabbed onto his coat sleeve lightning fast. “You will be staying here and entertaining them with me.” He probably would have only been able to break her grip on him with a crowbar. Besides, the kids all exclaimed over the idea. He wasn’t in any mood to play, but he guessed she probably wasn’t, either, not knowing all of the people she’d known, Lucius, they were all goners. If she was playing, he’d play, too.

When he was able to slip away, he found out there was a spare space in the female betas room and was able to get her a bunk. It was crowded, and he hoped she’d be safe, that no one dangerous would recognize her. Right now it felt like she was all he had. The kids kept him going, he needed them to be ok, but she was keeping him sane.

Until he saw that night’s news report, saw those bodies hanging down from the bridge through the fuzzy feed, and felt the rage build up all over again, heard Jones’ final desperate gasps for air. He growled and saw out of the corner of his eye how everyone backed away from him. Only Ms. Tate looked up and went to stand beside him.

She spoke in a hushed whisper. “There was nothing you could do, Blake.”

He shook his head. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t told them they should go…”

“Then it is as much my fault as it is yours,” she argued.

“NO.” He didn’t want her ever thinking that. “It’s not, you were trying to help.”

“As were you, my friend.” Her hand touched his cheek gently and he closed his eyes, felt his insides twist. “I saw Bane kill him.”

Her eyes narrowed then her face softened. “That must have been difficult for you. I’m sorry you had to witness it.”

“I’m fine.” He was. He was fine. He was just angry. He wasn’t going to be hurt over this. He was going to be pissed. Pissed at himself. “I’m just going to go get some air.”

“You should not be out alone. What if someone saw your face today when we ran?”

He wanted to laugh. He’d already faced Bane himself, been claimed by him, had thrown snowballs in Barsad’s face and been pinned down to the bed. Going outside and seeing a mercenary or two didn’t seem all too threatening anymore. Maybe he’d show them what Barsad had taught him with his knife. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Get some rest, ok?”

Her eyes followed him when he stepped outside, but she let him go.

Once he got out, he felt like his skin was crawling even in the fresh air. He wondered if they were waiting for him to come see them. They’d probably miss him if he didn’t come. He wasn’t going to miss them. He tugged his jacket around himself tighter. He knew what bullshit it was. How dare they. How fucking dare they make him feel better than he thought he could, make him feel like he was finally a fit somewhere when it was all going to end. That was the brunt of it. It was all going to end, and what he had just seen was a terrifying reminder of that.

He walked. He wasn’t going to them. He just needed to get out the aimless energy that always came with his anger. He didn’t explode often, but when he did it was often at the cost of some of his furniture, or a wall. He’d lost his security deposit on his apartment a long time ago, but the landlord had just shaken his head about it, muttering how he shouldn’t have rented to an unmated alpha. He didn’t have that luxury anymore; he would never let himself fly off the handle around the kids.

It was stupid to be out this late. It was dark. He’d always made his way to their room just before dusk. He wasn’t going there, though. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was just walking. Walking until he didn’t feel like he’d burn up into ash long before the bomb went off.

There was screaming. It was a sharp sound that broke the quiet, and he twisted his head around quickly to figure out where it had come from. He’d figured an alley, but those days were gone. Now the violence took place in the middle of the streets.

There was a group of men and women, five of them. He could smell what was going on when he ran closer. A heat cycle, with the omega looking flushed and crouched down on the snowy pavement but clearly fearful, clearly wanting nothing to do with the argument going on around him.

He could hear the bargaining, the talk about who “got a piece of him.” They were treating him like meat to be bartered over, and whenever he tried to slip away he got a kick, a snarl. Blake glanced around, saw lights in some of the apartments nearby, and then saw them go out. No one was going to do anything. It was the first time in a long time he’d wished he had his gun.

But he did have his knife. He ran, didn’t give himself time to think. He let all of the anger in him pour out as he slammed his fist into the corner of a man’s jaw, pain running sharply down his arm from the force of it. Bane had shown it to him one night. He believed in moves that would take one’s opponent out in one blow. It worked.

The man crumpled down to the street like broken glass, and he ignored the throb in his knuckles in favor of grabbing his knife out and slashing the cheek of a woman who growled and got too close.

He growled and glared at the remaining four, one cupping her cheek, the others watching him warily. It was far from a fair fight even though they weren’t armed. He straightened his shoulders, put all of the force he had into his voice. “That’s my omega.”

“He doesn’t have an alp—” one started to protest and stopped when Blake whirled around and glared at him.

“He’s MINE.” It was a snarl, and there was doubt in their eyes now. It turned to arguing, that the boy hadn’t seemed like he was mated.  He ignored their words but watched their posturing go from hostile to nervous. He crouched down and grabbed the boy by the neck and shook his coat, getting a yelp.

“Why were you fucking late?”

“S-sorry!” It was a bewildered stammer, and then he growled again, kicked the still choking and gagging man with his foot. “They kept me.”

He growled, dragged him down the street. He listened closely, but they weren’t being followed. Once there was enough distance, the boy he was holding started struggling. He was smart not to fight against five people, but it was clear he was pretty strong, too, and wasn’t going to submit to Blake for his heat just because he’d tricked the others.

“Let go of me!”

“Shh, hey. Calm down. I’m not trying to pull anything, I just wanted to help.” He let him go and watched him straighten, glare at him warily.

“You’re an alpha. Are you mated?” he asked, to see if he could trust him. Blake didn’t know what to say in response. Mating usually meant biting claims, marking one another with nails and cuts and sometimes even ink. It meant oaths, promises and sometimes objects exchanged, rings, jewelry, fuck, he’d heard once of a tribe that had exchanged dried cow hearts, for luck or something. He wasn’t ‘mated,’ but he didn’t want this guy running off because he didn’t trust him not to take advantage or to get him somewhere safe.

“Yeah, I’m mated.”

He saw the relief in the guy’s body. “Oh God, thank you. Thank you so much. You could have gotten yourself killed.” Blake started when he smacked him roughly on the shoulder. “You shouldn’t have done that, though! What if you had died? Where would your omega be?”

He barked out a laugh, tried to keep the bitterness out of his tone. “Just fine. They take care of me more than I take care of them. Where are you staying? I’ll walk you back.” He could still smell the scent of the guy’s heat and he smelled amazing; it was getting him damn hard. It wasn’t unmanageable, though. No one smelled like Bane.

He took the guy home. His name was Peter, and it took a couple blocks to get there. They were both coming down from the adrenaline, and it made them more talkative than Blake would probably have gotten otherwise.

“I’ve got someone to take care of me,” Peter assured him when he asked. He could see how the guy’s walk was slower than usual and there was no missing the bulge in his pants, the flush of arousal on his throat. “I just didn’t expect it to hit me so soon. She’s going to ream me out.” He laughed a little.

He was more than a little surprised when an omega answered the door, the faint scent of a heat cycle that had faded clinging to her. She sniffed at Peter and growled at him so loudly he wondered if maybe he’d gotten her dynamic posturing wrong and she was an alpha, instead, apparently it was harder to tell then he'd ever thought before meeting Bane. He blinked when Peter was pulled in and the door was slammed shut on him. A “Sorry!” was called out through the door, and muffled explanations to the girl inside faded away as they moved from it. Omega pairings were pretty fucking taboo. Their mating wasn’t even recognized by a lot of states. He’d always heard that omegas needed alphas to get them through the heat, but he’d already learned a while ago how much bullshit that lie was made of.

Now that everything had died down, he was left alone again, and while he thought a fight would have evened him out, he was wrong. He only felt more worked up. He paced down the dark streets for a while, rethinking over the events of that afternoon. The adrenaline from earlier was only making things worse, making his shoulders tighten and his heart race.

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He hadn’t felt it like this in a while, rising out of his bones. He hadn’t even been this angry at Gordon when his lie had been made public. His skin felt tight and the tension in his head ached. What if Ms. Tate had been hurt? He wasn’t ready to go back to St. Swithin’s. He was avoiding them, but really, why the fuck should he be avoiding them? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Those fuckers. They’d almost killed Ms. Tate. He was going to give them a fucking piece of his mind.


	23. Chapter 23

Blake stormed into their room. Barsad looked up, not entirely surprised to see him or the fire that lit his eyes. Talia had known that chances were Blake would insist on being there when the special operatives were taken to speak with her. It was unfortunate, but necessary. They had never hidden who they were from him. His anger was strikingly beautiful and he wished, not for the first time, that they had found him young, that he had had them with him to shape him. Now it was senseless, directed at things that were unable to be solved. How breathtaking would it have been to see Blake’s wrath focused on this tainted city?

“You bastards! How could you do that?” Blake’s hands clenched and unclenched into fists. He looked about to swing at them, though he did not come closer. He was in a rage, but not a mindless one. He knew what folly trying to strike them would be. His shoulders were stiff, tension written across his face, nearly a snarl.

Bane had been working at their desk. He stood then, his own posturing easily overshadowing the dominant stance Blake’s body had subconsciously posed into. “They were interlopers, and they were taken care of as they needed to be, made an example of. They knew the risks when they entered our city.”

Blake glared up at Bane. His posture didn’t change. It was a commendable thing when one knew how quickly his body often dipped into submission around Bane.

“You could have killed her! She’s my only friend! God, what if you had killed her?” Barsad felt his heart ache for him then. That was the brunt of it for their little alpha. He had been so alone for so long, and he had been scared of losing one of the few intimate connections he had now made, terrified even. He could see the slight shaking in his fingers.

“Who, Blake?” he asked, standing and stepping closer, not close enough to crowd, but sharing in the same space as his brother.

“No,” Blake growled. “You don’t get to know her.” He said it with a fierce protectiveness to his tone. Their sister would have found it precious to hear.

“And what if,” Bane asked as if stepped closer, “knowing her could keep her safe from harm?” He curled his hand into Blake’s hair. It made Blake struggle, still full of anger as Bane tugged his head back curtly, exposed his neck and trailed a pair of fingers down it.

“No,” Blake whispered harshly, his body shaking. Bane made an inquisitive noise.

“You do not wish her to be safe?” Barsad asked, stepping up with Bane, placing his hands onto Blake’s shoulders and feeling the tremble of muscles beneath his fingers.

“No one is safe.” He refused to look at either of them. His anger was still there, but Barsad could feel the despair in it. Blake could not accept the fate of Gotham or themselves as they did.

“All things end, Blake,” he reminded him gently. “There is no one who escapes death or fate.”

That seemed to take the rough fight out of him. When Bane released his hair he sagged against him, sounding lost. “I don’t believe in fate. I don’t want her to die. I don’t want you to die. I don’t want to fucking die!”

Barsad could still sense his anger, but it was a restless, aimless thing now. He pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “You are, perhaps, little one, the only person in this rotten city that does not deserve its fate.”

“She doesn’t. She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

“Who is she?” Bane asked, his fingers back in Blake’s hair and rubbing against his scalp. “She must be very special indeed for you to come here looking for a fight.”

“She…” Blake paused, taking a shaky breath. “She’s my friend. She’s the only one I’ve got, ok? Promise me. Promise me you won’t hurt her.”

His brother exchanged a look with him. How fortunate that this would be such an easy promise to make. “Tell us who she is, Blake, and no harm will come to her from us; that is my oath to you,” Bane promised, and that seemed to take the rest of the fight out of their Blake. Bane led him over to the bed and pulled him down onto it with them. Blake looked exhausted suddenly, his anger having been driving him on and now, with it depleted, he lay down on the bed between them, sighed when Barsad put a hand on his hip and rubbed small circles there.

They listened to him tell them about his “Miranda Tate,” and Barsad knew that his brother delighted in hearing the wonder in Blake’s voice over her just as he did. It was thrilling to hear about Blake’s fledgling love for her, and it cemented for Barsad just how he would have dedicated himself to their cause and to her had he been theirs before he had become Gotham’s.

“We have seen her,” Bane told Blake as he stroked through his hair, spoke in a soft rumble that made Blake seem unable to resist pressing in closer to him as he seemed to always do now when Bane chose to be tender with him. “She was among the board members. She was very brave.”

“The men will be informed not to harm her if she is seen,” Barsad reassured Blake as he slipped a hand under the back of his shirt, rubbed against his spine how he knew he liked now. “We cannot account for the mobs, but if she is as strong as you say then she will endure.”  Blake nodded a little and Barsad watched as, for the first time that evening, Blake’s head dipped to the side, cautious and hesitant. It was not a subconscious action as it usually was. This was deliberate, a quiet submission, a silent thank you.

Bane took it, dug his thumb into the crux of Blake’s neck until he squirmed between them. Barsad cupped his jaw and tilted his head back for a kiss. Blake shifted onto his back quickly to make the angle easier, and Barsad smiled against his mouth, quick to climb onto his knees and lean over him, capture his lips and the sweet earnestness with which Blake returned each kiss. He felt him melt under him, Bane’s hand rubbing against his neck until he tensed again, broke off from the kiss and pushed at Bane’s wrist.

“I can’t keep coming here.”

Bane lifted his hand but watched him closely. “This is where you wish to be.”

“No.” Blake shook his head, closed his eyes so he did not have to look at them. “There’s only twenty-three days left. I can’t keep coming back here when I have to stop you.” He grit his teeth, determination in his eyes.

His brother did not seem deterred. He reached down to Blake’s belt, slipped the knife from its sheath, and placed it into Blake’s hand, clasped his fingers around it for him when he watched in confusion. He brought the knife to his own throat and Blake startled, stared with uncertainty.

“You could end this now, Blake. Bring me to my knees with one steady twist of your wrists.” He spoke gravely, seriously. It was one of the greatest gambles Barsad had ever seen, and though he trusted his brother, his body tightened with tension. “If that is your true wish, then do so.”

There was no noise in the air save for the soft, steady hiss of breath from Bane’s mask. Blake’s grip wavered then tightened, the muscles in his forearm flexing. There was sweat on his brow as those long minutes passed.

A red line marked Bane’s throat, a shallow slice, a test. Bane did not move, did not make a sound. He merely watched Blake and waited. The seconds ticked on and felt like an eternity, Blake’s struggle showing in his eyes until he looked shaken. He swore and pulled the knife back with a jerk of his arms, still clutching it. “Fuck! I can’t, you know I can’t!”

There was red smeared on Bane’s throat, the cut dripping down, but it was ignored as Bane took the knife from Blake’s hands, cleaned the blade and tucked it back onto his belt. “Yes, but I needed you to know it, as well.”

____________________

Bane smoothed Blake’s mussed locks. Blake’s eyes were still wild, uncertain. He knew what he had done might have seemed like a risk, but he knew Blake was theirs. Perhaps he had been theirs from the moment Barsad caught him up for him. “You wish to be with us. We desire you here. Your Ms. Tate is safe from us. There is no reason not to carry on as you have been. Your days belong to this city. Your nights belong to us.”

“Never think that we wish you dead, little one.” Barsad leaned down to kiss his cheek and Blake’s eyes were closed now, his constant turmoil roiling inside of him.

“You’re still going to kill me when the bomb goes off.”

“We are unable to separate the chaff from the wheat in this instance. All must burn in this field before it poisons the world.” Blake looked hurt when he spoke the words. He was a precious thing, valued by both of them, by their sister. He traced his thumb slowly across his brow. “Do you wish to be the only one spared, truly?” It could be done. If someone had been smuggled into the city, Blake could be smuggled out.

“No,” Blake said quickly, sounding haunted by the very notion. “No, I don’t want that at all.”

He was unsurprised by his response. He slid an arm under him and rolled onto his back, taking Blake with him. “Perhaps I am selfish in that I do not want you alive and alone in the world, either.”

Blake sighed, resting his head against his chest. He looked worn through. Barsad moved against his side and wiped the blood from his throat with a cloth, placing a light kiss there. There was little else to say though it was clear Blake’s body was still tensed from his conflict.

Barsad stripped Blake of his shirt and blew out their lantern. The moon made Blake look pale from its reflection against his skin. Bane traced his fingers across it and listened when Blake finally spoke again, quiet and sounding miserable.

“Why couldn’t this have happened another way? I think… I think I would have been ok with it, then.”

“Fate has chosen something else for us.”

“I don’t fucking believe in fate.”

“Then the world is cruel and it does little good to dwell on ‘what if’s,” Barsad said, not unkindly. Blake nodded a little and curled up against him and when Barsad laced their fingers together he squeezed his hand before he slept.


	24. Chapter 24

He was surprised when Blake was there when they woke. Usually they woke before him so that they could bid him a farewell. The times Blake had woken before them often meant he had slipped out before they woke, leaving no trace of him behind. Now, though, he was sitting up on the bed, knees bent and staring out of their window as the morning sun streamed in.

When Bane sat up, Blake glanced back. “Good morning.” He sounded despondent. Bane reached behind him and took a lock of his hair between his fingers, pulled sharply until Blake yelped and pulled away, bewildered.

“What the fuck!”

“I was tending to your fire. Making sure the coals did not grow cold.” His eyes crinkled with amusement as Blake rubbed his head and glared, muttered that he was an “asshole.”

Barsad chuckled from his place on the bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Why did you choose to awaken his ire? Now I shall never get a goodbye kiss.”

Blake mumbled a “fuck you,” but he crawled over towards Barsad on the bed anyway. Barsad smiled in satisfaction.

“Only if you are a good boy for me,” Barsad teased, and when Blake stilled he leaned up on his elbows to kiss him for a moment before he laughed softly as his expression. “Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you, little alpha? I think, though, that you would like me inside of you even more.”

Blake sucked in a quick breath, his eyes closing when Barsad kissed down the shell of his ear, took his lobe between his teeth and tugged playfully. Blake leaned closer, his arms trembling slightly when Barsad brushed his fingers across his neck, followed it up with a gentle press of his teeth, the quick flick of his tongue. Bane watched, entertained, curious, when Barsad stroked a hand up Blake’s chest and made him squirm. Sexual intimacy had not been something that had occurred since his heat, and during it he was not able to focus much on what Barsad and Blake did to one another, his body much more concerned with his own need.

He had expected Barsad to initiate this with Blake sooner. It was an unspoken thing between them that Barsad would be the one to start such a thing were it to happen. Bane had been curious about the possibility; he certainly enjoyed his brother, but he did not feel the same strong desires he did, and so if Blake was to engage in coupling with them outside of a heat then he trusted Barsad to know when a proper time to begin would be. He wondered at the timing, if it might be too quick for Blake, but his mouth fell open when Barsad reached down to cup him through his pants, a low moan escaping him and his eyes lowering as his member was toyed with playfully through the fabric, rubbed, stroked, until he bucked against Barsad’s palm.

He shared a look with his brother and sat down beside him, ran his fingers down Blake’s spine as he trembled under the touch.

“Would you like me to teach him how to please you outside of a heat, brother?” Barsad asked, his eyes lit with a playful desire. “I can show him how a beta knows how to please.”

He nodded, feeling his own desire grow with his brother’s. He ran his thumb over the swell of Blake’s lip as Barsad cupped his cheek, gave him a small smile.

“I am going to teach you how to suck cock, Blake.”

It was a lesson that Blake learned with a mix of curiosity and distaste. Barsad had tugged his locks sharply when Blake tried to protest that it was for betas, and the argument died on his tongue when he realized the foolishness in arguing about it.

“If you do not wish to, no one if forcing you, but I think you will enjoy the action and the pleasure it brings him. We can do it together,” Barsad coaxed, prodded, with just the right amount of needling and soothing to get Blake to nod finally, to have them both kneeling on the floor beside the bed as he sat on the edge of it.

“You cannot just stick it in your mouth and be done,” Barsad instructed seriously. “It is not a heat.”

“I know; I’ve had sex with betas, you know, without them having heats,” Blake mumbled, seeming embarrassed by his position on his knees in front of him. Bane thought he looked well suited to be there. He enjoyed how they looked together there, bare-chested and anxious to serve. It made him stir, made blood rush through him. Barsad rubbed his cheek against the crotch of his pants, the soft moan of appreciation vibrating through to his cock.

“Good, then you know it will take longer for him to come.”  He guided him out of his pants. Bane lifted so they could be slid down and then spread his thighs further, not missing how Blake looked over him more, how he swallowed audibly. “Now start slow, mind your teeth.”

“How can I mind them, they’re in my fucking mouth.” But he watched, his eyes growing wider when Barsad licked out over him. He rumbled in appreciation. His brother knew him well now, teased and pressed his tongue against each sensitive spot with just the right amount of pressure that had him heated quickly, pleasure racing through him.

“Come closer, Blake,” Barsad instructed between quick, clever strokes of his tongue. “It will be your turn, in a moment.”

____________________

He was ok with having it be Barsad’s turn for a while. He shifted nervously on his knees and watched as Barsad held onto Bane’s cock and licked it from root to tip, leaving a shiny trail of wetness behind as he flicked his tongue over his foreskin. He could see a bead of wetness at the tip of his cock and Barsad rubbed his lips against it before he licked over them. Blake could taste Bane when Barsad kissed him then, his mind flashing to the last heat and how Bane had made them lick up his come and he felt an old flash of shame over how that sent a jolt of desire through him. He pushed it away.

Bane’s eyes were closed in enjoyment. His head tilted back slightly as he groaned. Blake could see the thin line of red there, a glaring reminder of the night before. It should have stirred up feelings in him, but he didn’t let it. He’d spent most of the morning staring out that window, thinking of what was happening, what could be done.

He’d decided that he wasn’t going to give up trying to stop them, but if he couldn’t, he was damn well going to enjoy his final days.

It felt weird to feel the heat of his cock pressed against his lips. He licked a little and tasted familiar bitterness on his tongue. Barsad told him to stop teasing and open his mouth. Bane’s hand went into his hair and he listened, opened and tried to keep his teeth out of the way of Bane’s cock when it slid into him. It was strange, invasive and intimate. The way Bane groaned, though, it felt like he could feel it rumbling through his own body, ghosting over his skin.

“Very good, Blake.” Barsad kept instructing him, showed him how to hold his hands, suggested he suck, which he did until he felt his jaw ache so he pulled back, stroking his hand over Bane’s cock and marveling at the redness, its thickness and weight in his hand.

“We are not all so practiced,” Barsad explained when Bane made a noise of complaint over the loss of Blake’s mouth. “It can be wearing.” He took him into his mouth and Bane’s hand left Blake’s hair, went to Barsad’s. Blake was surprised at the slight flash of jealousy he felt over it. It was nothing like the snarling anger that had kicked up from his instincts the first time Barsad had been there, but damn it, he wanted Bane’s hand back in his hair. He pressed in and licked along Bane’s length where Barsad’s lips couldn’t reach.

Bane responded well to that. Blake could understand why someone would like getting this. He could sort of get why Barsad seemed to like giving it. His eyes were even more lidded than usual as he sucked and slurped, his body relaxed. His hand went to Bane’s stomach where he rubbed and scratched his nails, eliciting more pleasured sighs and groans.

“Faster,” he bade them, and Blake listened, looked up and saw that Bane was watching them now. His hand stroked over Blake’s neck, and his eyes were so possessive over both of him that his body was torn between twisting in discomfort or delight. He couldn’t tilt his neck from this angle, but he could go faster like Bane wanted. It wasn’t long before Barsad had them switch and he took him back, and then they traded again. Back and forth until it felt almost hypnotic to suck on Bane’s flesh, until Barsad was panting beside him when it was his turn and he could feel his own hardness swelled up tightly against his pants.

Bane’s growl became more cut off, a hitch of breath noticeable through the mask and Barsad looked up, delighted. “Almost,” he informed Blake, pleased. “He gets like that. Will you take his seed into your mouth? It seems only fair since he has taken so much of your seed inside of himself.”

That wasn’t sound logic, but it was hard to argue with a cock in one’s mouth. He grunted a little in protest and Barsad chuckled, pat his back. “You will be fine. Here, hold him here.” He guided his hands to the base of him. “Grip him tightly.” He understood why, he could feel Bane’s knot starting to form and he rubbed his thumb against it. Bane’s hips rocked in response and he did it again. There was low, cut-off growl, and suddenly Bane was coming, filling his mouth. He was worried he’d choke on the thick seed, but it wasn’t the obscene amount that spilled out during a cycle, and he captured it, held it against his tongue and swallowed down the hot liquid after a moment of indecision.

He watched Bane’s face as he came, the tension then the relaxed state it took when he slipped out of Blake’s mouth. Barsad kissed his swollen lips, chased after the taste of Bane on his tongue with his own.

“Not so bad, for an alpha,” Bane told him. There was a twinkle to his eye and Blake bristled until he saw it, realized he was being teased.

“Not bad for anyone,” He informed him and wiped his mouth. He had to go, it was getting late. God, he was hard, though. He reached down to adjust his pants and Bane noticed his dilemma.

“You are leaving with that? It will be an uncomfortable walk home.”

“I have to go. It’s morning.” That was the deal, the one he’d made in his mind, anyway. The nights were theirs, the days were Gotham’s. He couldn’t be here during the day. It was a boundary he couldn’t give in to. This morning had been unexpected, though not unwelcome, if he was being honest. He felt good even while he felt frustrated. Bane was happy with him, his eyes were lower and darker with satisfaction and that had been because of him. He’d pleased him. It shouldn’t have felt so good inside to know that, but it did.

“Then we will see you tonight.” Bane pulled him up from his knees and he felt pins and needles in his legs as blood rushed back to them. “If you still feel amorous, then perhaps your own desires will be taken care of.”

He laughed suddenly and Bane tilted his head.

“Sorry, it’s just… You made that sound like a booty call.”

Bane looked confused, but Barsad chuckled lightly over the slang. “You do not have to. We are happy to share your company either way, Blake. Not everything must be sex.”

“No, no, I uhm… I think I’d like that.” It was a hasty assurance, and Barsad seemed amused when he kissed him goodbye.

“Then we will see you tonight and see where tonight takes us.”

Bane nodded in agreement, and before he left he pressed his fingertips tightly against his neck, deep enough to leave five neat little circles of bruises against his skin. It felt good.

Twenty-two days to live.


	25. Chapter 25

He was regrouping with the police now. Everyone’s spirits were down after the incident. Everyone looked cold, tired, and hungry. Only Gordon looked strong. He was keeping it together for everyone, like usual, but even then the ranks were descending. Cops were disappearing, whether taken out by mobs, to the court, or just going into hiding. Alphas who had been accepting Gordon’s authority as tenuous at best before were now getting worse, pushy. Gordon pushed back, gently, in a way that didn’t make him the aggressor, made the other guys look like assholes. It was impressive.

He was with them that night. He went down onto his knees for Barsad. It felt strange and his body squirmed again in discomfort at the taboo of it without the heat there to make him out of his mind. It relaxed soon enough, though, with Bane touching over his cock and Barsad’s fingers rubbing every right spot inside of him.

When they both kept torturing him with quick, teasing strokes, he broke down and pleaded for Barsad to just fuck him. He finally did, with breathy moans against his ear and sharp snaps of his hips that had Blake grunting, trying to work out how the hell to move back at him in that way that had just made him see spots. They had him near ready to scream with their teasing, with Bane’s hot grip on him, jerking his fingers over his cock so roughly that Blake was torn between wanting to curl into a ball to protect himself from the sharp sensations and trying to rut into Bane’s hand desperately.

When he came in Bane’s hand with a whimper, Barsad stroked through his hair, told him how good he had done. It should have felt so belittling, but he just felt happy he’d done well for them. He took Bane’s cock into his mouth again, licked and slurped over it wetly. He was too tired to worry about any of the technique Barsad had showed him earlier, though Bane didn’t seem to mind. He thrust shallowly into his mouth, stroked his hair until he came, and Blake swallowed him down without hesitation.

When he felt brave enough to ask, after they were cleaned up and he was settled on Bane’s chest, warm and secure, he found out that Bane hadn’t actually been penetrated outside of a heat before. He felt a little disappointed at that, and it must have shown because Bane made an amused noise, touched over his cheek.

“You would like to be inside of me without my heat?”

“Well, yeah. You’re kind of incredible.” He muttered and pressed his face against his chest with a groan when he heard Barsad chuckling. “Thought you were asleep.”

“No such luck for you in that regard,” Barsad told him. “However, I have managed to coax Bane between my legs during a heat. Perhaps you can get him to expand his horizons, as well.”

“You mean you… oh.” He didn’t even know why he was surprised anymore, but he was. Then the unbidden thought of what it might be like to have the same done to him made him flush uncomfortably. “Oh.”

Bane ran a thumb down across the line of bruises on his neck. There was a bite mark there now, to match, red and slightly sore, and he shivered when Bane stroked over it. “Perhaps I could be persuaded to have you on your back for me even without the heat. You do behave admirably during it; I wonder if you would do just as well without it?”

“I…” He took a chance and reached for Bane’s wrist, didn’t grab. It was placed in his hands after a moment with a curious look. He pulled it close to his mouth, kissed over his thumb, his knuckles, each fingertip. “I would be. I would behave for it. I promise.”

Bane’s eyes lowered and Blake could see the desire there. He brushed his knuckles across his lips for another kiss. Blake sucked one into his mouth without thinking about it and listened to the soft exhale of breath through the mask.

“I think that such a thing can be arranged.”

The time he didn’t spend with the police was still spent with Ms. Tate. The kids loved to play with her. She… tolerated them. He teased her that she should never have them and she readily agreed. She was kind to them, though, and it made him feel good to know that she seemed to care about them. They needed enough people to care about them as possible. When they had moments to themselves, they snuck away to the father’s room. It wasn’t for what everyone else in the building was probably thinking. They liked to talk, alone.

They’d end up leaning against each other, and he usually ended up just taking a nap with his head in her lap. He’d wake up with her hand in his hair and her own eyes still closed. Once, he’d gently smoothed hers out of her face and guided her to lie down beside him. She had laughed softly when she woke up, asked him what the father would think, an alpha and a beta cozying up in his room. She had kissed his forehead gently when he’d said he didn’t care.

He could only spend so much time with her, though. Gordon had him running ragged. He didn’t mind, at least it was helping. He’d practically given up on finding the triggerman.  No one came into Bane’s room, not one of the guards that he’d seen had so much as been glanced at by Bane. If there was a triggerman, they were out there somewhere where he wasn’t seeing, and they would either have to fall into their laps or they’d need to keep pressing on and hope for the best. Maybe if they’d started looking earlier, like he’d wanted, it could have been figured out, but now there was just no time.

Now they were just scraping together everyone they could, doing recon on city hall, trying to determine where the largest groups of mercenaries were at any time, trying to figure out where the bomb would be, trying to figure out the best time to take out Bane. It ate away at him. They were trying to kill him. He couldn’t help with that part, he just couldn’t. So he found himself mostly being a runner, instead. He was constantly going back and forth between small pockets of resistance and delivering messages, slipping down notes to the officers below, spying on the mercenaries that guarded their exit to freedom from below.

He felt that was the biggest concern. If they could get them out, maybe they’d have a chance. Maybe they could take enough of Bane’s men down, take control of the truck, get the core reconnected.

Maybe Bane and Barsad would die in the attempt.

He was jogging back towards St. Swithin’s. He’d been keeping an eye on the mercenaries all morning, hiding under a pile of debris, and he was freezing his ass off. His fingers felt numb even in the mittens he’d managed to get ahold of. He just wanted to get back and get as warm as he could. God, what he wouldn’t give for a hot shower. It had been months.

He cried out in in shock when icy cold exploded against his cheek. He rubbed the snow from his face and looked around, glaring.

No one.

He looked up.

Barsad.

“You. FUCKER. Do you have any idea how cold it—”

He swore and ducked the next snowball as it careened towards him from the fire escape where Barsad had scooped snow off the railing. He looked set up there, his gun settled between the rungs and a small sack of supplies.

“I suppose your nose does look a bit red even from here.” Blake watched as Barsad vaulted himself over the railing of the fire escape. Catching his gloved fingertips onto a windowsill, he pushed off the wall with his feet and landed with a light crunch onto the snow.

“Show off. What are you even doing here?” He’d seen him once or twice on patrols. He knew Barsad had seen him, too, but had just led the men right by him as he ducked behind debris or under a car.

“We heard word that there was a troublesome spy from our camp guarding the outflow.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.” Barsad nodded and gave him a small amused smile. “It seems I have found him.”

“Yeah… I...”

Barsad just chuckled and grabbed his jacket, pulled him in close. He could see the air puffing out between them before Barsad leaned up to kiss him. Blake found himself kissing back at those warm lips eagerly when he shouldn’t have. Nighttime was their time, daytime was Gotham’s.

“I don’t care what you’ve been up to. Bane doesn’t, either. We just didn’t know it was you.” He brushed his lips against him and Blake couldn’t help the soft sound of want that left him. He pushed him away then, licked over his chilled lips. It stung a bit, to know that they considered him that little of a threat to them.

Barsad wasn’t deterred. ”What’s wrong, hm?” He stepped closer and cupped his cheek. Blake shuddered at the sudden warmth there, leaned into it. “You’re so cold, Blake.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hiding outside all day; it’s fucking COLD, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Barsad’s fingers stroked his cheek and he leaned more. Oh God, he was so warm it was unfair. Unnatural and unfair, he had to have glove warmers on and he didn’t care about Barsad laughing when he grabbed up his other hand and forced him to cup both sides of his face with them. “How are you always so fucking WARM?” he complained.

“I have been taught how to keep my body temperature at a functional level no matter the temperature.” He gave his outfit an appraising look. “It helps that I dress for the weather. Come on, give me your hands, I will warm you up.”

He didn’t want his hands leaving his face, but he was more than happy to have Barsad take hold of his hands and let the warmth seep into his frozen fingers. He should go, he should really go, but it was a long walk back to St. Swithin’s and Barsad was here now and warm. It really wasn’t much competition.

“It’s not my fault how I’m dressed. It’s not exactly easy to find new clothes now.” Barsad merely shook his head and slipped the small metal warmers out of his own gloves and into Blake’s mittens. He greedily gripped around them. Barsad was going to have to pry them out of his dead fingers if he wanted them back anytime soon.

Barsad didn’t seem to mind that much. He crushed him against the brick wall and nipped the corner of his jaw. His gloved hands traveled down his sides to his ass where he gripped tightly and pulled their hips together, ground against Blake’s steadily interested erection.

“I could have you here against this wall, snow angel,” Barsad taunted, biting roughly at his bottom lip; it was going to leave a bruise. “Would you like that? I have the means to do it in one of my pockets.”

Fuck. He groaned out and licked over his own chapped lips. It was too cold for this, but he was feeling a hell of a lot warmer now. It was daytime, though; daytime was supposed to be Gotham’s.

People took breaks, right?


	26. Chapter 26

“God, this is the worst place to do this,” he complained, but started kissing at Barsad’s throat, moaning against it when he tilted it back, nuzzling against his scruff. He knew it wasn’t submission, he’d learned that easily enough a while ago, but it was trust, which was crazy enough. He was so warm. He rubbed his cold nose against him and couldn’t help but whine. “The WORST place. What if someone comes around? You going to explain why you’re fucking the spy to your men?”

Barsad laughed and worked open his pants. He yelped in protest as his ass was exposed to the cool air, his cock still caught up in his pants and underwear, probably a blessing with the chill. “I think most would just cheer. The rest I would shoot.”

It was less funny when it was true, but he laughed anyway, gasped when Barsad pulled him up, made him wrap his legs around his waist and braced him against the wall. It wasn’t fair that the short little fuck had that kind of strength in him. He heard the soft noise of Barsad’s gloves dropping to the ground, of foil ripping, and he squirmed, grabbing onto Barsad’s shoulders as wet fingers rubbed against his hole. They were warm still, but everywhere else was freezing.

He tightened when they pressed. He always did. There was always that little cringe at the thought of doing this.

“Come on, Blake, open up for me, be good,” Barsad encouraged in a soft huff against his ear. He was always patient, always willing to wait and tease the sensitive nerves at Blake’s opening until Blake was able to jump that mental hurdle and loosen finally, gasp when hot fingers filled him and made him wet inside. “There you go, that’s a good little alpha.”

Barsad always gave him the little praise when he finally gave in and took, and he always wanted to hit him for it, but the thought usually left his brain in an instant when Barsad twisted his fingers inside of him and made him feel stretched open and wanting for more. He was amazed and more than a little embarrassed by how much he thought about it now, how much he liked it when Barsad filled him up, how good Bane felt in his mouth, when they both took their end of him and took their pleasure from him. He licked his lips a little and made a disappointed noise when he realized Bane wasn’t there. He’d gotten a little too used to being filled from both ends.

Barsad seemed to notice his dilemma and he could feel the wicked grin against his neck when he nuzzled past his jacket, bit at his skin. “Poor boy, you want Bane’s cock, don’t you? Do you want to suck on it? Hm?”

He nodded and let out a cut off grunt when Barsad slipped his fingers out of him, worked his cock out and slick then guided himself inside, not giving Blake a chance to think and tighten again. It was what worked best for them, slow, careful pushes that made Blake feel funny for a few moments then just full and hot with Barsad inside. He wasn’t feeling cold anymore.

He cried out loudly, his mittened hands smacked back against the wall and the warmers in them bit into his palms when he tried to find purchase on it as Barsad drove into him. “Fuck!”

“Shh, thought you didn’t want to get caught.” Barsad bit sharply at his neck again and drew a whimper out of him. He didn’t. That would be more than mortifying and possibly dangerous no matter how confident Barsad seemed to be about it. He was used to being muffled by Bane’s cock now, though, and the needy noises being pushed out of him by each thrust of Barsad’s hips kept coming. He shoved his own hand over his mouth finally, bit down onto cotton and his knuckles to quiet himself. He could hear Barsad’s own moans, could feel him panting wetly against his skin. The air was crisp in his lungs when he panted with him, but he felt hot everywhere now, his cock was aching and it chafed against his underwear whenever he shifted.

Barsad was fucking into him with a sense of urgency. He felt it, too. Five days. His brain was all too happy to remind him. He felt time slipping away every night he came to them, and maybe they felt it, too, because their touches were more possessive, rougher, and they took him harder. Bane had let him back inside of him the night before and he’d been ridden as roughly as if Bane had been in heat. Five days and they couldn’t get enough of each other to last. He whimpered at the thought, clenched down tightly on Barsad and was rewarded with a low growl, faster; near sloppy movements from a man who worked with grace and finesse.

He felt Barsad draw back a little, not letting himself knot inside; it was practical, but he whimpered from the loss anyway. It didn’t feel quite right not to have that extra stretch inside. He could feel a slight shudder run through Barsad’s body as he kept him pinned tightly to the wall, a low groan as he came. He tried to reach down for himself and fumbled with his mittens. His cock was hard and aching, still caught up in his pants. He whined pathetically and practically pawed at himself.

“Barsad, Barsad, come on, help, please?” he begged desperately, ignoring the amused noise when Barsad realized his dilemma, because he mercifully yanked his pants down a little further, wrapped a hand around his cock and pumped over him until he was crying out, his shout caught up in a heated kiss as his come was caught up in Barsad’s hand. After a few jerks of his hips, he wrapped himself around Barsad and sagged contently.

His legs were wobbly when Barsad finally righted him to stand and arranged them both.

“You could always come back with me now,” he suggested, and it was tempting, so tempting. He was feeling sated and tired and sweaty now under his clothing. It would feel so good to curl up with them, to watch Bane knit or play a game of cards with Barsad.

He shook his head. “I have to get back.”

Barsad pressed a thumb to his cheek, smiled slightly when he tilted his head for him and took the opportunity to stroke his throat briefly. “Very well. Tonight, then.”

Tonight didn’t happen. He’d gotten to St. Swithin’s and ended up falling asleep with his head in Ms. Tate’s lap. She seemed quieter when he woke up later, and he watched her as she looked out the window in a contemplative silence. He couldn’t blame her. Time was running out, and he felt like he was failing her. Fuck, he really was failing her, he realized suddenly. He could have saved her countless times over if he’d given up what he knew on Bane and Barsad, if he’d just put that knife through his throat. The sudden thought made his heart ache and his throat feel closed off.

He closed his eyes suddenly and couldn’t look at her. Her hand brushed over his cheek.

“What is it, Blake?”

“It’s nothing.” He felt her fingers trace over his brow, and he swallowed at the lump in his throat. “Ms. Tate?” He’d never been able to bring himself to call her Miranda even though he knew he could. It just didn’t suit her, and right now he didn’t feel like he deserved it. She made a questioning noise.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered out, and felt his eyes sting a little. Her hand paused at his cheek and she shifted him out of her lap, lay down beside him. He couldn’t look at her; he let her wrap her arms around him, instead.

“Blake, you have nothing to apologize for,” she promised him, and she sounded so certain, but he knew how wrong she was. She was probably the only friend he’d ever made, it felt like she was more than that, and he couldn’t tell her that he was killing her. He didn’t want her to hate him.

“I do. I really do. Just, I’m sorry.”

She shushed him quietly when he didn’t deserve it, forced him to look at her. “We all are doing what is necessary, Blake. What is necessary for you might be different than what is necessary for me, but do not apologize to me for it, understand?” He nodded a little and wished he did understand.

“A man came for you while you were gone. I assume he was an officer, but he did not say. I wanted you to sleep first, though.”

There was a tired ache of protest in his bones when he sat up quickly. “Did everything seem ok?”

She nodded and sat with him, smoothed his hair. “Yes, I assume it is merely because time is of the essence. Blake, you will let me help you now, won’t you?”

He tilted his head into her hands and sighed. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Blake, please.” She sounded amused almost, like it was endearing. “I think, given the circumstances, I would rather assist than sit here.”

“Yeah.” He snorted a little. “You’ve got a point there. I’ll talk to Gordon.”

He didn’t get a chance to talk to him. He was too busy. They worked almost around the clock, gathering up every supply they could, every officer that hadn’t disappeared. He didn’t have time to see them, and he felt a sudden ache in his chest while he checked over their ammunition supply and realized that he wasn’t going to even be able to say goodbye.

When he slept, it was in the corner of their small base of operations, a couple of hours here and there. No one was going anywhere unless it was on an assignment. There were still arguments. Half of them wanted to go right after the trucks, half wanted to rescue the trapped officers. He was on that side, but Gordon thought tracking the truck was the most important thing, and honestly, he needed as much support as he could get.

It was the last day. They were doing the final roundup. Gordon looked up as they entered the room.

“That’s it?” Gordon looked incredulous. Blake shrugged apologetically. He’d done what he could to round up whoever was left. He was about to mention Ms. Tate when Gordon stormed out of the building after Foley.

“You shouldn’t be out on the streets!” he called out after him. He sighed when he didn’t get anything in return. They needed all the people they could get.

Ms. Tate had been happy to come, had quickly taken up her coat and followed him to Foley’s house.

“I hear you are looking for men, commissioner. How about me, instead?” she offered.

“Ms. Tate, I can’t ask you to do that…” But his eyes were a little hopeful. Any support was good support.

“Please.” She gave him a small smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go guys!


	27. Chapter 27

It was a surprisingly simple idea to execute. Blake had no idea why they hadn’t done it weeks ago with the supplies left behind from special ops, too much infighting had been affecting their effectiveness.

Gordon explained it to them. Someone would stand watch from above, two officers would slow the truck, Ms. Tate would check for radiation spikes and then someone would tag the truck if it was the right one. He started to quickly volunteer to tag the truck when Ms. Tate touched her hand to the back of his elbow lightly.

“Blake, would you watch from above? I would feel better with your eyes on me. I know how sharp they are from our time observing the city together.”

He didn’t let his disappointment at the idea show. He wanted to help more than that, but if that’s where Ms. Tate felt comfortable with him being, then that’s where he was going to be. He touched her hand a little before he took the walkie-talkie, ignoring a questioning look or two he got. “Stay safe, ok?”

“Of course.” She patted his hand and he climbed up onto a nearby fire escape, settling in to watch, hands warm inside of his mittens with his warmers there. The truck was following the same route as usual, part of the route that he had painstakingly mapped out with her. The trucks had only changed routes once, since then it had been the same constant routine.

He watched closely as it drove slowly through the streets. He felt his heart pounding in his chest when he saw Ms. Tate give the signal. This truck had the bomb. The bomb was right next to them. If only they could do something about it now. Gordon walked casually behind the truck and he could barely see the flick of his wrist as he tagged the truck.

He dared to smile down at Ms. Tate a little, then movement caught the corner of his eye and he swore. “Heads up, heads up, mercenaries on your six.”

He could hear shouting and he scooted back from the rungs of the fire escape, his stomach lurching when he heard Barsad’s voice shouting, ordering Gordon to stop. His worlds were crashing together, and he was trapped up there. He couldn’t get them out of this, he couldn’t go down there. Ms. Tate. He watched her glance up towards him, shake her head and he grit his teeth. She didn’t want him to risk himself.

He was the only one left, and he’d never felt so alone.

It took a few moments to shake off the numb. Barsad knew who Ms. Tate was, he’d recognize her, and she’d be safe then, wouldn’t she? What if she wasn’t, because she was taken with the group? What if Barsad or Bane was offended that he didn’t come back, and she was no longer considered someone not to harm? His head felt all scrambled up. He couldn’t do this alone, and he hated that he couldn’t. He really was a terrible fucking alpha.

He set off for the courthouse.

It was a madhouse outside, crowds of people calling out for death. He tried to shove into it and was shoved right back. Growling meant he quickly ended up in a fist-fight with a couple of betas that took offense to that. He got a bloody nose and a sharp rap to the skull for his trouble. Worse yet, it took up precious time. He downed them, though, and he was so angry that for the first time in a long time he wished he had his gun back. If their distraction meant that Ms. Tate had been hurt… he might just come finish them. He wiped the blood from his nose and mouth on the back of his sleeve and soldiered on inside.

It wasn’t much better there. He could hear the shouts as he elbowed his way in. He was for the most part ignored, people could see he’d just won a fight and snarling at a few alphas that got too close meant that everyone else backed off and let him by. He couldn’t see, and he couldn’t get much closer without drawing too much attention to himself, which would be deadly. He could hear Gordon, though. Fucking Gordon, brave to the end and they were still going to make them walk that ice, anyway.

He managed to worm forward just in time to see them being led off to the holding area. He couldn’t see Ms. Tate with them, and he couldn’t see her in the crowd. He hadn’t been that far behind, but he couldn’t see Barsad, either. He waited, listened to Crane sentence a few others, but she didn’t show up. He realized then that if she wasn’t here then she was with them.

He ran from the courthouse and to their quarters, boots skidding on the slushy streets, sharp, crisp air cutting his lungs. He was huffing for air by the time he arrived and got an annoyed look from the guards just for existing, but he was waved through the entrance. They wouldn’t hurt her. They’d said she’d be safe, he reminded himself. This was just what they meant by safe. She’d be safe.

____________________

Bane heard heavy footsteps coming towards them from the hall, they all heard them. This would be a hard moment for Blake, but it was better for this to end with the truth. Talia shed her coat like a second skin and let it drop onto the bed; with it she shed her façade of Miranda Tate. Barsad opened the door before Blake could knock, waved him in.

“Come in, Blake.” His voice was his usual soft lilt, but it was gentler, a buffer to the harshness Blake was about to face. He closed the door behind him and Blake glanced at him before looking around the room, stopping at Talia.

“Don’t hurt her; you promised you wouldn’t.” It came out half as a threat, half as a plea. It warmed his heart to see Blake’s devotion to their sister.

“Blake.” She walked over to him, placed her hands on his forearms in a familiar gesture. “There is no need to worry, everything is alright.”

“I don’t…”

It was clear he did not understand yet. He blinked a moment in confusion over Talia’s calmness, how she patted his cheek. “These are my brothers; they will not harm me.”

Confusion clouded over Blake’s face, then slow realization, panic, betrayal, each emotion flashed in his eyes in a medley that had to pain him.

“Blake…” She brushed her fingers to his cheek and he made a choked off noise, snapped back from her.

“Don’t! Don’t.” He shook his head. “You can’t—Ms. Tate…” He sounded as though his heart was raw, and Bane felt the rare impulse to soothe it. He had not witnessed such a hurt in one he cared for since he had cradled Talia in the pit.

“She is our sister, Blake.”

“Talia,” Barsad informed him gently, touching the back of his shoulder.

“Your fucking triggerman,” Blake realized bitterly.

“Our leader,” Bane answered and pulled Blake to him, wrapped his arms around his smaller frame and felt the angry tremble in it. He growled and thrashed for a moment. Bane let him. It was a mindless sort of anger, not one befitting him and something he was better than, but everyone had moments of weakness.

Blake snarled and spat at the floor, but his energy was short lived. There was blood marring his face and it was clear he had taken more than one knock to the head. He slumped in Bane’s arms soon enough, and the angry tremble was replaced with a shudder, a near sob that was choked off.

“I was trying so fucking hard to save you.” He looked up and his eyes were rimmed in red. “I just wanted to save you. You were my only friend.”

Talia watched the entire display tolerantly. Bane had not had a chance to see them interact, and he was fascinated by it, her beautifully cruel eyes slightly softer around Blake, her movements patient in a way she would not give to another. Bane sat down with him on the bed, held an arm around him when he went limp with exhaustion. It was clear he had not had more than a few hours of sleep since they had seen him days ago.

She touched his cheek and he started to jerk back, but he could not seem to bring himself to do it. When she sat beside him she drew his head up, captured his eyes in her own sharp, serious gaze.

“You are my friend, as well, Blake.”

“Friend’s don’t kill friends,” he spat out, but he didn’t move away from her hands. She kissed his forehead.

“I know that you have heard enough from them. One night of explanation from me will not change your mind, will it?” She stroked his hair back from his eyes. “Know this: that I care for you. That the time we have spent together has been a pleasure for me, and that, were you to accept such a thing, I would be proud to call you brother.”

“All of it was a lie,” he argued. It was clear he was torn, now, between building up and hardening his heart from his perceived betrayal or letting her balm the wound herself. In the end, it was no contest, for Talia was as inescapable as time itself when she set her designs on something. She cleaned the blood from Blake’s nose and mouth gently, dabbed at them with cool water then washed his face.

Blake stiffened initially, but he let his head be placed in her lap. It was obviously a familiar action, and it pained him at first, but she carded through his hair, Barsad’s fingers laced with his, and Bane ran a heavy hand down his thigh until he was gentled for them, until he took shuddery breaths and looked lost, hurt, but not rebellious.

They told him their story then, of the pit, of Talia’s leap to freedom and his sacrifice for it, how they were part of one another, two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. He looked at her with new light then, some understanding, not of what they were doing now, but of perhaps earlier conversations with her. They had both been born into harsh worlds. He looked nearly asleep with the constant petting, but he fought it.

“You could rest, Blake,” Barsad suggested, trailing a finger up his palm, making Blake twitch at the tingling sensation.

“Can’t. I have to go. I have to stop you.” He sounded so desperate now, so determined. He was alone, though, and they knew that.

“Blake,” Bane spoke to him firmly. “There is nothing you can do now, is there? Do you truly wish to spend your last day alone? Your last night cold and wandering the streets aimlessly?”

“I can’t just lie here and die! I can’t just let you kill those kids!”

“Ah.” Talia made a noise of understanding. “Barsad.”

Barsad nodded in understanding and brought a well-marked map over to the bed. “She changed the routes once she learned of your orphans, Blake,” Barsad whispered in explanation as he showed Blake the map, tracing his fingers over where Bane knew his sister had trailed her fingers many times, each truck’s route mapped out carefully. “Your heart for them convinced her to spare them.”

Blake shook his head, looking confused. “I don’t understand.”

"Only the decoy trucks come close to St. Swithin’s, Blake," Talia explained. “The bomb will be at its farthest point from it possible when it is set to go off.”

“It won’t be enough—”

“The decoy trucks, Blake. They are lead-lined as the other truck, and one will be cramped but enough to hold the children, get them to safety. I have entrusted a small group of men to do this.”

“That’s why the trucks changed paths,” Blake realized, and Talia nodded, patted his forehead.

“Your children are safe, Blake. There is no need to fight for them any longer. You can rest, now.”

Bane saw the struggle leaving him and gathered him up into his arms, rubbed a hand down his back. “You have struggled for so long, Blake. Rest for us.” He felt Blake’s head tilt and pushed his mask against the bare crook of his neck, feeling a shiver before Blake slipped off into a weary rest. They each took a turn holding him for a few short hours. There was little to speak of and so they merely enjoyed one another’s company.

Barsad drank coffee, slowly, contemplatively as he smoked a cigarette, a rare treat for him. Bane wound and knotted his yarn and Talia rubbed Blake’s back, twisting her fingers into the slight bit of curl to his hair that had started to appear from so long without a cut. He saw Talia look to him, to each of them more than once, and her face would twist slightly, nearly imperceptible. He wondered her thoughts, but she did not share them.

It was a quiet way to meet the end, and it was preferable, but it was not to last. He turned his head towards the door when he heard shouting, and Barsad rose quickly with him, went to check the rooftops. His eyes narrowed when he saw his former brother’s signal emblazoned in fire on the bridge.

“Impossible…”

____________________

Blake felt Talia’s fingers gently shaking him awake. “Look, Blake.” Her voice was soft and he squinted, following her gaze out the window. He sat up quickly, stared out at the bat signal glowing brightly against the bridge. He looked over and he thought she’d be mad, but she almost looked like she was watching it in quiet marvel.

“I did not think it was possible for him to survive it…” Her eyes looked strange in the glow of the symbol. “Tell me, Blake, do you believe that perhaps fate had a different plan in store for you than the one you first thought?”

He shook his head, he didn’t understand. She gave him a small smile. “I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

He stared at the flames. Bruce was alive. There was someone else out there to fight with. He was torn. It was night, now. Nighttime was their time, and daytime was Gotham’s.

She kissed his forehead. “I am going to go check on them. Goodbye, Blake.”

She held him for a moment longer, stroked his hair once before she left. He thought it was strange that she bothered to say goodbye. His throat felt tight when he realized that she knew he was leaving. That she was letting him go.

He just wished he’d been able to say goodbye to all of them.

 

It was fucking dark and his fingers were shaking in his mittens as he crept up the encampment. There was too much, too fucking much on his mind and he couldn’t deal with any of it. He just had to press on. He wasn’t fighting alone, anymore. Bruce was out there, he was rallying the people, and he needed soldiers. He slammed a piece of equipment into the face of the guard and dragged up the grate carefully.

“Come on!” he whispered urgently. He helped his partner up, saw the split-second smile he gave right before a bullet went into his back.

One of the men, the leader of the camp, stared down at him. “Who are you?”

He shook his head defiantly. He thought about using Bane’s name, but he knew these men were here 24/7. There was no reason word would have gotten out to them to spare him, and even if it did, with hours on the clock left, who was going to listen?

He grunted as he rolled down the rough embankment, swore when he felt like he broke a rib. It wasn’t like it mattered. He was staring up into a gun barrel, anyway. What was a broken rib?

Bruce. He watched him take out the mercenaries with a fluid-like flurry of hits and kicks that made Blake wish he’d had more time to train with Bane and Barsad.

He watched as the men flooded out of the tunnels, rounded up the mercenaries and cuffed them against the wall. It seemed pointless, but whatever made them feel better.

“What now?”

“All-out assault on Bane.”

He felt his stomach flip-flop at the idea. He was secretly pleased Bruce when didn’t want him there. Could he stay away, though? He knew the kids were safe. As long as they were safe, he could trust someone else to lead the exodus Bruce wanted.

There was a truck waiting at St. Swithin’s, a man seated in it gave him a wary look but he recognized him as one of the guards that let him into Bane’s rooms. Talia hadn’t been lying. The children would be safe. He wasn’t needed there, which meant he needed to be at city hall. Maybe Bruce could stop the bomb, and maybe Blake could stop them from being killed. Maybe nobody had to die today.

He changed his mind when he got there. There was so much blood and carnage, bodies of the police Bane’s men littered the street. He wondered if maybe everybody had to die today.

____________________

Barsad had lost his brother in the crowd of men swarming city hall. It worried him a small measure. The plan had not been proceeding as expected; Bruce Wayne was certainly not meant to come back. Talia had been quiet, had not spoken of it. When they had seen Blake was gone, she had merely said he had decided he could not stay. It had been a disappointment, they wished his end not to be alone, but they would not force him. He would die for what he believed in, as would they.

Now, though, his radio was blaring at him, warnings from the other men. He felt his worry grow as he rushed back into city hall, saw his brother and sister crowded around Bruce Wayne.

“The truck is under attack!”

Talia shook her head in amusement. “Gordon… You gave him a way to block out signal. No matter; he’s bought Gotham eleven minutes.”

He left to prepare a convoy as she ordered. It was with a small pang of regret that he realized they would be leaving their brother there, but it was unavoidable, it seemed. He saw their goodbye, and to many it might not have seemed tender, but he knew how strongly Talia used the word friend, for it had only been used on two others in her lifetime, and he held it dear to his heart that he was one of them.

When she gave the order to keep Bruce alive, he knew it would not be kept, but then, he felt that she knew it, as well.

She strode out in front of him, every bit the fierce leader that he adored as they made their way to the tumbler. He turned to her to speak and found himself unable to comprehend why she held a gun to his stomach, nor the bullet that followed. It was just another gunshot in the air and it jolted through him, his armor could only protect so much from such a close range, and he felt it piercing into his skin, shattering in his belly.

He crumpled to the ground and stared up at her, so confused as to why she would end him now when they were all so close to completing their mission.

“Sister—”

“Shh.” She crouched beside him. “You are strong, brother; you will live from it.”

Pain welled up inside of him, confusion. His eyes clouded when he looked up into his lovely sister’s face. He could not understand this. “S-sister, we were ready to die by your side.”

She did not even seem to notice the guns firing around them as her lips curved into a warm smile, more loving than any he had witnessed on her beautiful face. She stayed by his side for a moment, looking into his pained eyes.

“It is enough, my friend, that you were willing to. I will not survive this, but I feel that, if I fail, you might, together. That is what I wish. “

He choked back a pained noise and tried to sit up. She pressed a hand to his shoulder.

“You are too loyal to trust not to follow me.”

His eyes were damp as he tried to raise a hand up towards her. He did not want her to go, to die alone, but she looked serene, fearless.

She touched her fingers to his forehead. “This is for you, Barsad, loyal friend; give it to them, as well, for me.”

Her lips pressed against his tenderly, chastely, the barest brush of a goodbye, then a final soft word was spoken in farewell as she left to finish the work, to leave them behind.

“Rise.”


	28. Chapter 28

When he woke up, it was to a throbbing headache and cotton mouth. He shifted on his stomach and felt hot pain lancing up his back. It didn’t stop him from struggling to sit up, bracing his palms onto scratchy… hay? That didn’t work. A wave of ill washed over him and he whimpered out a low “fuck.”

“It is unsurprising that your first word back to the world of the living would be a swear,” a familiar voice whispered beside him. There was a teasing tone to it, but not with its usual strength. It sounded tired, worn. He tried to shift and felt a large, heavy hand on the small of his back.

It didn’t feel quite right, but it kept him still before it lifted.

“Do not move around.” It was a deep voice. It sounded almost familiar, but he was too fuzzy to figure it out. He felt drugged. He probably was drugged. He took a breath and felt more pain just from the action. Good drugs. Nice drugs.

Squinting didn’t help. It was dark and fuzzier outside of his head than it was on the inside. There was a steady low rumbling underneath his body, like they were moving. Maybe they were moving. He managed to turn his head a bit, opening his eyes, and felt dizzy all over again with relief when he saw Barsad beside him. He was wrapped up in clean dressings and looking like shit, but alive, breathing, awake, even, judging by his sarcastic comment.

_“Barsad!” He had almost missed seeing him. There was smoke, tear gas and God only knew what other sorts of chemicals thick in the air. He felt like he was running blind into the crowd. There was blood everywhere; this was a slaughter. Piles of bodies were scattered on the steps to the courthouse. There were still so many people fighting, gunfire everywhere. He didn’t care about any of it._

_He’d nearly tripped over him, eyes streaming and stinging from the gasses. The red scarf was what had caught him. There were thousands of conscripts, but only members of the league wore those scarves. He dropped down and ran his fingers against his neck, checked his pulse. It was fluttery, but there. It looked like he was breathing, but there was blood bubbling out of his vest._

_He heard Barsad grunt, groan out in pain when he grabbed his scarf from his neck and pressed it to his stomach. “Fuck, if you’re awake hold that there, you lazy asshole.” He grabbed his hand and pressed it to the cloth, relieved when Barsad was coherent enough to grip, to push down. He had to get him out of there, he had to find Bane._

_Fuck, he was heavier than he looked. He grabbed the fabric of his coat under his arms and yanked, tried to drag him off the steps as carefully as he could, wincing when the movement had him coughing up blood, babbling out an apology but not stopping._

_“Talia…”_

_“Shut up, don’t talk. I’m going to find her.”_

_It wasn’t exactly ideal, and he felt pretty fucking terrible shoving Barsad under a pile of debris, but he was a sitting duck otherwise. He yelled at him to keep pressure on his wound and took off. He couldn’t see Bane or Talia in the crowd, and he was pretty sure they would be together, that Bane would stand out. He couldn’t see Bruce, either._

_When he saw the hole blown into the side of city hall, he felt a sense of dread. He found him there, armor blown to shit, chunks of it embedded into his skin. His mask, though, it looked mostly whole and he could hear him breathing through it, shallow. Bane was EXACTLY as heavy as he looked, and ten times as conspicuous when he dragged him out. He didn’t even know what to DO with them, he just had to get them out, had to find Talia and get them all out._

_Bane’s hand latched onto his wrist tightly when he tried to leave him by Barsad to search again. “Let go! I have to find Talia!”_

_It was clear that shaking his head was new pain and he could barely hear him rasping, trying to speak. There wasn’t time. He was able to yank free only because of Bane’s injuries. He took off in search of her. The fighting was starting to lessen and he needed a plan, SOMETHING; so far he had two bodies to carry, and he was only one guy._

_He heard movement behind him, turned. How the hell did the mercenary running the outflow escape? It didn’t matter much, he supposed. He was staring down the barrel of his gun._

_“Bane needs you!” he yelled out. It was worth a shot. He got a puzzled look, suspicious._

_“Kojo, stop.” It was wheezed out. Barsad was there, the fucking stubborn bastard, gripping his arm across his belly and standing, leaning against the debris. “That is Blake, stop.”_

_“Barsad.” Kojo lowered his gun and went to him. “You’re looking worse for wear, old friend.” It got a wet, painful laugh, and there was more blood dripping down his lips._

_“We will have to regroup—”_

_“We have to get the fuck out of here,” Blake cut him off. “I’m going to find Talia.”_

_“Blake, don’t,” Barsad tried, but he wasn’t going to listen. He had to find her._

_But he didn’t. He searched through the crowd, and a bullet found a way into his back for his troubles. It wasn’t even aimed for him, just friendly fire. Fucking typical._

He could vaguely remember the pain, screaming and dropping down to the ground. He’d been sure he had been dead then, and after a few long minutes of blinding pain he had felt warm almost, comfortable and sleepy. Then he had felt himself being lifted, tossed over a shoulder like dead weight and carried away. The sounds of war had echoed through his ears as he had been taken away from it.

“How did you find me?” It hurt even to get that much out and his voice echoed in his head, made the slowly knitting skin on his back crawl in irritation.

“As if we could lose you.” Barsad laced their fingers together and gave his hand a weak squeeze.

Panic thudded through him suddenly. “Where are they?”

There was a long pause, each second chipping away at his heart before Barsad finally answered softly. “Bane is here.” It was all that needed to be said.

He closed his eyes tightly and gripped Barsad’s fingers. “No, no. Fuck, no.” He had failed her.

“Shh.” Barsad held his hand firmly. “It was what she desired.” His voice sounded choked, though, when he said it. He felt a hand on his ankle, a tight grip. This touch he knew.

“Bane.”

“Hush, little one.” It was an order, and he closed his eyes tightly in response to it. His voice sounded hollow, just as tired as Barsad’s. He shifted, and with a pained groan tried again to push himself up.

“Stop. You will pop your stitches.” The hand was back on his back.

“Then fucking help me,” he snapped and turned his head, finally recognizing the mercenary from the outreach, Kojo.

“All three of you are the worst patients I’ve ever had,” Kojo complained. He muttered lightly, but he honestly seemed be in the best spirits of all of them. Maybe it was the lack of bullet holes.

“Help him.”

It was excruciating to be moved, each jostle was like a fresh slice of pain. When he finally settled in Bane’s lap, he didn’t care. He realized now why Bane didn’t help him. He was propped against the corner of the… well, he still didn’t know where they hell they were. A train, maybe? They’d all been resting on a bed of hay covered by some thick padding. There was a tool box open nearby, and he could see first aid equipment, syringes, and bottles of pills. Bane’s chest was wrapped up like Barsad’s, and what he could see of his skin looked a sick shade of pale.

He was hesitant to lean against his chest but he couldn’t hold himself up. He ended up against him, tucked into his shoulder. There was a hiss of pain and Barsad was there with them, leaning against Bane’s side. He reached for his fingers again and they were taken, Bane’s hand lifting slowly to wrap around Barsad’s shoulder, his other resting on Blake’s side, keeping him pressed to him.

“There was nothing you could do, Blake.” Bane sounded like he was grieving with every word. “There was nothing any of us could do. It was her desire.”

“And her desires were nothing we could ever stand in the way of,” Barsad whispered out, his voice sounding raw.Blake could see his eyes were red, puffy. He bit back a sob at their loss, felt that empty spot in himself reflected back in both of them. Kojo left to another compartment; they apparently really were in a train.

Barsad explained gently how Bane’s men had carried them to safety, what Talia had done. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke her last words to him, and Blake felt Bane gently wipe away the wetness in his eyes that he didn’t want to admit to, not until he saw it in Bane’s eyes. He fucking sobbed then. If Bane could cry, could mourn like that, then why was he holding it in?

They grieved together in pain and silence until Blake drew a shuddery breath, tried to collect himself. Bane’s hand cradled the back of his neck and Barsad was stroking gentle fingers up his arm. “I still don’t understand… why she did it.” He thought of the last time her saw her, their goodbye. How she had looked up at the symbol of Batman and seemed different.

“I think, Blake… that you changed her heart, made her question her father’s decision. I think in her heart she left us knowing that we would live and she would die.”

“How could she ever know that?”

“She was always convinced of my immortality, even as a child,” Bane said, his voice soft. “Perhaps she knew that Bruce would survive me. They both survived the pit; I was broken by it.”

Barsad reached to touch Bane’s mask gently before adding, “She knew all of the technology that Mr. Wayne had in his arsenal, that he could save the city by sacrificing himself. I think… that that was enough for her. Her father’s revenge, a city not destroyed but forever changed.”

“She didn’t have to die to do that.” He wanted her back here. He wanted all of them together. He thought of his head in her lap, her rare smile, the way her fingers would sift through his hair and calm him.

“It was her choice. We will all mourn her together.” Barsad moved to wipe his own eyes and Blake reached carefully to do it for him. “And we will never forget her.”

He managed a small nod. The aches and pains of loss and wounds caught up with them, and they drifted in and out, lulled by the gentle vibrations under them. “Where are we even going?”

“Idaho,” Barsad answered. He sounded half asleep with his head nestled against Bane’s chest.

“What the fuck is in Idaho?”

“A lot of potatoes, I believe, and a private plane that will take us home.”

“Home?”

“Back to the league.” Bane had taken to resting his mask against his cheek, and the cold felt good. “Our numbers are fewer, now. It is a time to regroup, to decide what will be done next.”

That might have hurt worse than the bullet wound. His fingers dug into Bane’s arm. “You’re leaving?”

“We. We are leaving, Blake, and you are coming with us, of course.”

“You…” He shouldn’t have felt relieved at that. “…You know you didn’t even ask. That’s fucking kidnapping.”

“It is only kidnapping if you don’t agree,” Barsad pointed out, and Blake felt a little better when he could see the barest trace of a smile on his face. “Then we will have no other choice but to kidnap you.”

“You would, too, fucker. You already practically did, once.”

“I prefer to think of it as abduction.” Barsad rolled his shoulders into a careful shrug, took his fingers and kissed the tips of them.

“Blake, you will come with us.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but there was hesitance to Bane’s tone. He realized he didn’t even have to think hard about it.

“Yeah, I will.”

“Of course he will.” Barsad said it as if it could never even have been an issue, but Blake could see the quiet relief in his eyes. “What would our mate do without us?”

He snorted a little at the joke then realized he was being watched intently. “If that is your way of ‘courting’ me, it’s not funny.”

Bane made an amused sound, his thumb rubbing against his shoulder; he could still feel the bruises of his fingerprints, the rough sting of Barsad’s bite.

Claiming marks.

“We claimed you some time ago, Blake. We have simply been waiting for you to realize and accept.”

“No, but… the alpha is supposed to—” He shut that line of thought right up before he got laughed at so hard he made one of them pop a stitch. “But it’s more than just, the biting… Oaths…” He thought of their promises to not force him to stay, to keep Talia safe from them when he thought she was in danger. “Gifts…” Bane’s fingers touched lightly to his belt, to the knife they had given him, and he remembered the glove warmers from Barsad. They were practical gifts, something that was more fitting for them to give than any ring.

He felt really stupid to have missed what was right in front of him. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed out, stunned.

“But, you two…”

“If it is not something you are willing to accept, Blake, then so be it, but it will not change how we think of you—”

Blake put his fingers over the grate of his mask to make him stop. “You’re both fucking crazy. You can’t… people don’t with two people, and with a beta and... Fuck.” He ignored the pain in his back and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Bane’s mask, feeling Bane breathe out over his lips. Bane closed his eyes and Blake wondered if he was feeling the same.

“Yeah, ok, yeah,” he whispered and took his hand, kissing it then looking over at Barsad who looked uncertain. He realized that he was holding back, willing to not be part of this, for them.

“If you don’t get up here and kiss me…” He tugged at his arm.

Barsad’s eyes closed for a moment then he smiled slightly. “You will do what? I would have you on your knees sooner than you could ever touch me.” He moved forward carefully, kissed over his lips tenderly and whispered out a quiet thank you.

He would mark them later, when it was right. He wanted to. He was theirs, and he was going to make them his, too. There was still pain, and he could still feel the emptiness of Talia being gone in his heart, but this… this was good, too.

This was a new time, and he didn’t know all that it would involve, but he was tired of his old world, the rules, the shackles that he never asked for that tied him to things he didn’t want. He was choosing this, choosing to be theirs, and he knew that that was crazy, that he’d probably question it a thousand times over when they got to where they were going, but for now this was what he wanted.

Bane seemed to understand. He ran his fingers gently across his neck and spoke a promise to both of them. “This is a time of sorrow, but also a new beginning for us all. We will heal together. We will grow stronger together,” he paused, and with a weary effort slid his fingers through each of their hair in turn.  “We will heed our sister’s final words to us,” he continued, “and together we will rise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone for you comments, observations and kudos!
> 
> Next fic will most likely start being posted in a week or so. I'll post more updates and information on new fics on my tumblr which reminds me-
> 
> Shameless tumblr plug http://relevantlyirreverent.tumblr.com/


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